


Broken Silence

by Catastra_Fey, joshllyman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fire, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Worth Issues, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catastra_Fey/pseuds/Catastra_Fey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshllyman/pseuds/joshllyman
Summary: Akaashi Keiji is a loner. He works hard and comes home to a quiet apartment, and that's the way he likes it. But when a new neighbor moves in to the apartment next to his, his quiet life is stolen away from him by a voice he never knew he was missing.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi
Comments: 149
Kudos: 385
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020, My favorite haikyuu fics, maazesfini





	1. Everybody Wants a Honeybody

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, here we go. Cat and I have been working on this since April. It's been such a pleasure to work with someone so incredibly talented and so incredibly sweet, and I really hope you guys enjoy our final product, because I know we're both very attached to this story. Please leave us a comment, a kudos, a subscribe, or check out our other stories if you like this one!  
> joshllyman is writing the Akaashi chapters, and Catastra_Fey is writing the Bokuto chapters.  
> Also, the song in this chapter is "Honeybody" by Kishi Bashi. You can find the playlist for this fic [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5IhufWmniAQk0MlEOHUMHb?si=d-HFr8uQTaKXW6Ud0kYBJw)

Akaashi can feel the weariness grating raw against him all the way down to his bones. It’s been three nights in a row now that he’s worked twelves in the emergency room, and last night there had been some bizarre accident involving a water nymph and a witch that had resulted in thirty-three people being admitted. 

And people say plant magic is dangerous.

The trip up the steps of his apartment building is treacherous, drained as he is. With each step his muscles scream for rest. His feet ache, his legs are deadweight, and his hands are raw from being scrubbed clean between each patient. The suppressant cuts too tightly into the skin of his wrist, and he rubs at it absentmindedly, eager to remove it once he gets inside.

When he arrives at the top of the stairs he nearly trips. Broken down cardboard fills the hallway in front of him. It had, perhaps, been neatly stacked at one point, but now it is haphazardly scattered in front of his own and several other doors. He scowls at the offending obstacles and kicks them back in front of his neighbor’s door. The apartment immediately next to his, 304, is the only empty residence--previously empty, he supposes--so it must be the one whose occupant threw out the boxes.

He lets himself into his apartment and slumps against the closed door. He pulls the suppressant band off his wrist and chucks it onto the counter where it will lay until his next shift a week from now. Seven gloriously empty days stand between him and the next time he’ll step foot into the emergency room, and he intends to use them to catch up on his sleep.

As he stumbles toward his bedroom branches and vines begin to sprout from his elbows, stretching sleepily down his forearms and wrapping around his wrists. A single yellow flower blooms from a vine around his pinky and turns its face toward his. He raises an eyebrow at it.

“No use getting too excited,” he murmurs, using the fingers of his opposite hand to carefully brush over its petals. “We’ll just tend to your cousins on the balcony before we get some sleep.”

Akaashi knows too much about the magic inside himself to personify the plants that are the expression of it, but he swears the flower droops a little at his words. He sighs as he slides open the patio door. He takes a careful look in either direction to double check that none of his neighbors are snooping; he hardly needs more judgment from them than he already has. When he is certain the coast is clear he stretches out his hands toward the plants on his balcony.

He hadn’t meant to start collecting them. The first succulent had been a mildly cruel joke from a friend back in high school, back when he’d shunned his powers all together. But even in his darkest days he couldn’t turn his back on a being, any being, that needed his help. And he’d been surprised that using his powers made him feel more whole, more himself than he’d ever felt. 

One succulent led to a second, and then a daisy recovered from a neighbor who hadn’t been caring for it properly, and then a cactus he’d had to purchase from the local hardware store because it looked so pitiful and overwatered. By the time he’d moved out of his parents’ house, he’d needed several carefully loaded boxes to haul all his plants to the new place. 

Now it’s a routine to come outside and care for them, to tune in to the magic in his veins and the magic that resounds from each of the plants. He’s always found it fascinating that although the plants that grow from his body vibrate and wave and shudder in the direction of each of the potted plants, there is no other visible marker of his magic. It’s not like water or fire, or even air, which manifests itself in rainbow colored light. Plant magic is invisible, and perhaps here is where the mistrust of common people lies. 

No one trusts what they cannot see.

He tends to each plant with the last of his energy. That first succulent is always the final one he cares for, and he definitely doesn’t have favorites--that would be illogical. But he whispers to this one last of all, his voice wrapping around its leaves like a warm ray of sun.

“Good night, little one,” he says, and it shivers with the touch of his magic. “Take care of yourself.”

He’s careful not to let any of the vines hanging from his body tangle in the door as he shuts it behind himself. Removing his shirt only causes more to sprout, and he sighs as he face plants into the bed. He turns on his side to look at the plants on his balcony, the sunlight illuminating each of them. He feels warm and content, despite his exhaustion, and it’s with the pleasant feeling of a job well done that he lets his eyes fall shut.

Almost no time has passed at all before an echoing voice penetrates through the walls of his apartment.

Akaashi sits up, entirely startled. It hasn’t been more than a few minutes since he’d entered his apartment, and he was sure he’d locked the door behind himself. Had someone broken in?

He hustles back to the living room to check, vines extending out in front of him before even his fingers can reach the lock. The door is still secured, as it was, but the voice hasn’t stopped. He’s still confused, but as he listens he begins to make out the words.

_ Hey you, honeybody, when you coming out for game play? I got my checkers out, chess, parcheesi. Oh yeah, honeybody, you make me want to play with you. _

There’s a pleasant lilt to the voice, which tips playfully from the high notes to the low. Akaashi walks the perimeter, touching each wall in the unlikely scenario that it’s somehow coming from within. It’s loudest where his wall touches 304, the newly occupied apartment beside his own. He presses his ear up against the wall.

_ And if you want to bring your dice, that'd be real nice, six-sided, dodecahedron, it doesn't matter. Oh yeah, honeybody, you make me want to stay with you. _

Akaashi frowns. He can’t hear any sort of background music, which suggests it’s simply the occupant’s voice making all that noise. He doesn’t understand why he can hear it so clearly in his own apartment. The old neighbors never made so much as a peep; then again, they were quite elderly and didn’t get out much. 

_ Oh, honeybody, whatcha doing Sunday? Maybe sipping a Coca-Cola with me, babe! Oh yeah, honeybody, honeybody, honeybody, yeah, 'cause everybody wants a honeybody someday. _

Frustration fills him. He had just wanted to go to sleep. The last three nights have been hell on earth, and he deserves to get some good rest. How is he supposed to do that with such incredibly disruptive noise? And honestly, doesn’t his neighbor know it’s just past seven thirty in the morning? It’s entirely too early to be making such a ruckus. He hasn’t met them yet, but he decides already they’re rude.

_ Mama said they don't grow on them trees easy, hands down on the ground, I'm begging you to please, honeybody, please me. Ooh, honeybody wants your body, ooh, honeybody wants your body. _

He stomps back into the bedroom and pulls the blanket up over his head. It’s stifling, but it creates a protective barrier in which he can pretend he simply doesn’t hear the overwhelming amount of noise. He lets his eyes fall shut as the singing continues.

_ Hey you, honeybody, one day you're a lady, sitting under the tree all so shady. Oh yeah, honeybody, one day we want to play, honeybody, yeah _

Then again, whoever the singer is is quite talented. It’s not a song Akaashi has ever heard before today, but he thinks his neighbor does it a great justice. His voice carries the right tone, light and airy and dancing with each syllable. He takes a deep breath and settles further into the mattress.

_ On that day, we're together in a real way, under pressure and safe it's so easy. Oh yeah, honeybody. _

It’s soothing. The more he lets annoyance seep out of him, the more satisfaction he finds in listening to the music. Two vines creep up from his wrists and tug the cover back so that his nose is peeking out from underneath. He drifts closer to sleep as the voice finishes its song.

_ Mama said they don't grow on them trees easy, my hands down on the ground, I'm begging you to please, honeybody. _

The singing devolves into humming, and then into silence, and Akaashi wishes for a brief moment that it would return. The thought is extinguished as his body finally gives in to the sleep he so desperately needs.


	2. Can't Watch You Dig Your Own Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks all for reading! The song for this chapter is Drug by Simple Creatures.

Bokuto lets the last of his humming trail off as his phone vibrates on the bathroom sink. He swipes at it, smearing shaving cream over the screen and curses, scrambling for a towel, and has to settle for the one around his waist, since all the others are still packed away. 

“Hey buddy, that’s not a very nice way to greet your best friend bringing you the last of your packaged up life.” Kuroo’s voice is playful as always and Bokuto laughs. 

“Hey Tetsu! You guys going to be here soon?”

“We’re standing in the parking lot, dummy. Come down and help us.” Bokuto’s eyebrows shoot up and he gives his half shaven reflection a pout. So much for starting his new routine on the first day. He’d expected them to be late, Kuroo was always late, but Daichi was always early, so he guesses it makes sense in the long run.

“Uh, okay, give me one sec. I’m naked.”

“Pfft, well I mean, I don’t mind, but Daichi is an awful prude, so you-ow!” he hears the sound of a thwack, no doubt Kuroo’s boyfriend and their longtime friend and coworker, Daichi, cuffing him playfully. It makes Bo chuckle, and he wipes off his face, grabbing a pair of boxers and shorts and a tank top and hopping into them as he hurries for the door. 

He’s still humming when he slides the keys from the hook they installed last night, the same one from his and Kuroo’s old apartment, shaped like a fat little owl. He realizes he’s humming as his eyes fall on the sticky note Kuroo placed right above it. And the same one that’s at eye level on the door. The same one that’s also placed on the glass of the slider out to his small balcony. Just a little face emoji with a zipper mouth. He clamps his lips together and opens the door. 

It will be hard without Kuroo there to remind him. They’d been best friends for so long that the little voice in his head that was always telling him to control his own voice sounded like Kuroo. He would have to get better about it on his own. Keeping to the ritual would help, Kuroo had said, so even though no one was there to police him, he draws the little X over his mouth with his fingers before opening the door, swallowing down the song. 

Sometimes, being a siren really sucked. At least for Bokuto, it did. Most sirens had no problem controlling their singing, but ever since he was little, Bo always had music in his head and inevitably, it would creep out. While he almost never used his full ability with it, the latent magic of his singing voice would distract and lull the people around him. The louder he was, the more powerful the effect. And Bokuto was never very good at being quiet. 

He was also cursed with an allergy to the suppressants most magicals use to contain their abilities. It works, but he can usually only stand to have the thing pressed against him for about an hour before the red and blistering skin on his wrist becomes unbearable. It was a rare problem, but there weren’t really any solutions. It makes his issues a double whammy.   
He’d been lucky to have a friend who was an antimagical. Kuroo created a radius of nearly ten feet of antimagic, a blessing more often than a curse. Any time he was with Kuroo he could hum and sing to his heart’s content and as long as he stayed within that radius, everything was great. But now, with Kuroo moving in with Daichi, Bokuto would be alone most of the time. While the housing for magicals like him had each unit sealed to prevent any latent magic from leaking through, being able to sing meant shutting every door and window tight. It was hard enough for him to remember to lock the door. 

As he makes his way down the stairs and sees Kuroo and Daichi milling about outside, a sharp pain clenches in his chest. He already feels so lonely. And he’s glad, so, so glad that his friends are together, the perfect match for each other with Kuroo’s radius and Daichi being a golem, but…

He shakes his head and flings open the door, plastering a smile on his face. Kuroo sprints toward him, Daichi’s skin hardening back to cracked stone as the antimagic field moves away from him, and Bokuto is lifted in a tight hug. 

“How was your first night? Not too stuffy, noisy, or boring was it?” Kuroo sets him back down and Bokuto bites at the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want Kuroo to feel bad for leaving him. He’s a grown man, a firefighter who saves people for a living. He doesn’t need someone taking care of him. He knows that it’s weighed on Kuroo’s mind, barely overheard whispered arguments about it between him and Daichi. Kuroo needs to live his life. 

“It was great! Walls are still horribly bare, but the shower has good water pressure-”

“And acoustics?” Kuroo asks, waggling his eyebrows. Bokuto grins. 

“Here’s hoping I’m not bothering anyone.”

“Well, let’s get your stuff unpacked, and then we can sing a little, yeah?” He nods enthusiastically in response. They race over to the truck and begin moving the boxes up the stairs. Kuroo only has to remind him once not to hum. 

As they unload everything and begin the process of unpacking, Kuroo steps out onto the balcony with Bokuto’s sad looking pot of hydrangeas. 

“Holy shit. Dude. Did you know that your neighbor has a whole forest out here?” Bo crosses the room and pokes his head out, gasping at the various greenery on the next balcony over. There’s only a few feet between them and as he steps out onto the little overhang he can smell the greenery. It’s amazing. He's never seen so many different varieties of plants all flourishing in harmony like this. 

“Wow. Man, I can’t even manage to keep this freaking hydrangea healthy. Set it by those plants!”

“No way, man!” Kuroo chides, cradling the pot against his chest and turning it away. “Those monstrosities will eat it! Or your weird neighbor will steal it! What if they’re one of those ‘plantivists’ who believes that plants are better than people and should take over the world? What if they’re one of those crazy druids-” Bokuto clamps a hand over Kuroo’s mouth, listening carefully. No noise is discernible over the rustling leaves and rumble of vehicles below. 

“Then I’d rather they didn’t think I’m prejudiced! Since I have to live next to them!” He whisper-shouts at Kuroo. Kuroo gives him a scowl and sets the plant on the opposite side of the balcony. It seems to droop, the sparse, little baby blue flowers already starting to brown around the edges. It makes Bo sigh. Maybe his neighbor could even teach him a thing or two about caring for it. As the last thing he has from his mother’s house, it holds a special place in his heart. 

Kuroo yanks him back inside just as Daichi is shutting the windows and turning on the little air conditioning unit that sits above the sliding door. They all three sigh in relief as cool air blows over them.   
Bokuto looks over at the two of them, sees their fingers intertwine, and that gnawing sadness wells up in his chest once again. He bites hard into his bottom lip and looks away. He would be fine, he could do this. Still, he was having trouble controlling the prickling in his eyes. 

“ _I got a feeling that the weather’s gonna change, so I’m turning off my brain for a minute._ ” Kuroo’s voice almost catches him off guard, but a smile tugs at his lips as the familiar song kickstarts within him. They’re both looking at him with lopsided grins and he can’t help but be lifted by it, raising his head and letting the song pour out of him.

“ _I had a premonition that tonight is getting strange, so I’m turning up the sound when you get in!_ ” It feels so good to just let it freely escape from him, rolling through the room and echoing off the bare walls in his rich tones. Kuroo takes his hand with his free one and squeezes it tight.

“ _Because I can’t watch you dig your own grave, dig your own grave today._ ” Bokuto squeezes it back hard, taking another breath as Kuroo sings to him, his voice a little thinner than usual. Bo can hear the emotion he’s trying to keep hidden in it. He has to be strong. He can do this. 

“ _And I can’t hear a word that you say, a word that you say…_ ” Locking eyes, they take a deep breath and step into a spin with their hands clasped together as they begin the chorus in unison. Daichi is laughing and it’s a pure, lovely moment that Bokuto clings onto with all of his might. They will be few and far between from this point on. 

“ _You’ve got me going round, in circles in my head, the signals that we send, electric confidence. Push me, pull me down, pick me up, drag me round, parade me through the town, fake jewelry, wear me out...I can’t get enough of your drug!_ ”


	3. I Wanna Live Better Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the positive response to this fic so far!! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this as much as we are <3

Akaashi wakes with music in his head.

This isn’t especially surprising to him, since he’d fallen asleep to the sound of his neighbor’s singing. What’s surprising is that the music in his head isn’t the music he’d fallen asleep to.  _ I can’t get enough of your drug!  _ plays in his head on repeat. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard this song, either. He’s certain it has something to do with his neighbor.

A phone call to the office assures him that the barrier between the apartments is intact, that they had been checked before the new occupant moved in. If his new neighbor is magical, Akaashi’s not being affected by that magic. The neighbor is just really loud.

Akaashi spends the night catching up on a podcast he’s been enjoying. The time without his suppressant on is a refreshing break from his working hours, where every moment he has to keep his magic in careful check, even with the suppressant working to help him. Allowing the plants that naturally want to sprout to actually do so is a relief, and they stretch out around him as he reclines in his armchair and listens to the soothing words of the podcaster.

Just as he’s ready to go to sleep again his neighbor’s voice begins to filter through his walls.

_ Don't wanna live as an untold story, rather go out in a blaze of glory. I can't hear you, I don't fear you! _

Akaashi narrows his eyes at the wall where the voice is coming from. A nonmagical person could never sing loud enough to break into his apartment so clearly. The neighbor has to be magical: air magic, perhaps, to amplify himself. Or a siren, but those are less common. 

_ I'll live now 'cause the bad die last, dodging bullets with your broken past. I can't hear you, I don't fear you now! _

If this is how the rest of his time in this apartment is going to be, Akaashi’s ready to go break his lease right now. He can’t live with constant music coming out of the neighbor’s apartment.

But it’s not constant, he reasons. It’s just a little in the morning every morning, and it’s not interrupting his sleep. 

Maybe it’s not the worst thing.

_ Wrapped in your regret, what a waste of blood and sweat, oh oh oh! _

Akaashi realizes it’s a waste of time to be angry. It’s not like he’s going to do anything about it, and there’s nothing actually harmful about the music. If he lets himself admit it, the voice is kind of nice. Pleasant and sweet most of the time, angry when it needs to be, and never off key. Objectively speaking, the person behind it is clearly talented. 

_ I wanna taste love and pain, wanna feel pride and shame. I don't wanna take my time, don't wanna waste one line. _

He actually recognizes this one, if only the chorus to it. He hums along as he pulls his pajamas on. It’s kind of like having music playing from a stereo, even if it’s not something he would have chosen for himself. He smiles wryly at the thought of his neighbor projecting a podcast into his apartment.

_ I wanna live better days, never look back and say, could have been me, it could have been me! _

Akaashi stretches out in his bed, feeling the few vines still sprouted from his arms do the same. It’s not something he wants to get used to, this being-sung-to-sleep business. But he could get used to it if he had to. 

***

It goes on like this all week. There’s occasionally a song in the evening as well, just as Akaashi’s waking up, and one every single morning as Akaashi’s going to sleep. He marvels a little at how exactly their schedules seem to line up.

Akaashi considers more, as the week goes on, what kind of magic his neighbor must have. Air magic is usually marked by kites, or ribbons, or something like that on the balcony. He knows of a resident downstairs who keeps little windmills on their balcony to help them keep track of which way the wind is blowing on any given day. His new neighbor has none of those. (The only thing on his neighbor’s balcony are a few extremely sad looking plants. Akaashi pities them, really). The lack of instruments doesn’t rule out air magic altogether, but it does make him being a siren more likely. 

Akaashi does a little research on sirens, the fourth night of his week off. According to the internet, sirens are supernaturally loud (he’d figured that out) and have the power to sway people’s emotions and thoughts with their singing. The barrier between their walls should keep that from being true in this case, but Akaashi does usually end up feeling lighter after he hears his neighbor sing. It’s not a marked change in his emotions, really, but it usually, at the very least, brings a smile to his face.

And that’s about it as far as verified information goes. There are rumors, of course, but he can’t find much beyond that. It seems the rarity of sirens keeps the internet from knowing too much about them. Meanwhile, there are thousands of butchered pictures of plant magic users binding and torturing victims with their vines. They’re disgustingly exaggerated and completely misrepresent how his magic works, and Akaashi has to log off before he gets too frustrated.

His curiosity grows exponentially as time goes on. By the time the week has passed and his next shift has rolled around, he’s considered actually going and knocking on the door several times, only to stop himself at the last minute every time. 

He remembers the pictures in his search of people like him.

He turns back to whatever he’d been doing before the thought occurred to him.

It’s left him a little miserable, if he’s honest with himself. He’s gotten plenty of sleep all week and he’s had more than enough time off from wearing his suppressant, so he can’t understand why he feels so terrible. He takes a quick break in the middle of his shift and rests his head on the nurses’ desk. Shimizu pats his back sympathetically as she passes by.

“You look like garbage,” a voice says.

Akaashi lifts his head up from the desk to see Ennoshita approaching him. “You didn’t even see my face before you made that assessment,” Akaashi protests weakly.

Ennoshita smiles as he leans against the counter. “Didn’t need to. What’s wrong, Akaashi-kun? Sleepy?”

“I’m pretty sure my new neighbor is a siren,” Akaashi says. 

Ennoshita raises his eyebrows. “Tough luck, buddy.”

“Tell me about it,” Akaashi says with a sigh. “He’s never kept me up when I’ve been trying to sleep, he’s just...loud.”

“You made sure he’s not affecting you, right?” Ennoshita asks. “Barrier’s still in place?”

“They checked it last week,” Akaashi answers. 

“Good singer?”

“Aren’t they all?”

Ennoshita shrugs. “Not necessarily. I’ve heard it can depend on how compatible you are with them, or something like that.” 

Akaashi furrows his brows. He’d seen something like that in his research, but dismissed it as an unconfirmed rumor. His neighbor is an excellent singer, as far as he can tell. He wonders if any of their other neighbors have heard him, or if they feel the same way about his voice.

“So if he’s not keeping you up, and he’s got a good voice, what’s bugging you so much?” Ennoshita asks, cutting into his thoughts.

Akaashi swallows. Trust Ennoshita to get right to the heart of his problem. What  _ is  _ bugging him so much about his neighbor’s singing? He’s not harming Akaashi in any way, and Akaashi will reluctantly admit it’s been kind of nice that his apartment hasn’t been entirely silent the way it usually is. 

“You’re just mad because someone’s cutting into your solitary existence,” Ennoshita says.

Akaashi glares at him. “I’m not solitary. I work with people, magical and not, for forty hours a week.”

“And then go home to your apartment and stew in silence on your off hours.”

Akaashi frowns. Ennoshita’s right, because he usually is. He’s the closest person Akaashi has to a friend, and he’s never been to Akaashi’s apartment in the three years they’ve known each other. Akaashi tries to remember the last time someone actually did come to his apartment and comes up blank.

“What’s your point?” Akaashi asks.

“Say hello, Akaashi-kun,” Ennoshita says. His pager beeps. He pulls it off his belt and sighs as he reads the alert. “Make him some brownies. Hell, request a song. I gotta go. Get some rest.”

Akaashi watches as Ennoshita walks away.

Ennoshita’s words eat away at him for the rest of his shift. He’s still thinking about them when he lets himself into his apartment the next morning. He’s a little later getting home than he’s been getting in bed this past week, so he’s--not disappointed, certainly that’s not the right word, that he doesn’t hear singing coming from his neighbor’s apartment. He’s not disappointed and he’s definitely not worried at what might be keeping his neighbor from singing.

None of those things.

He takes his suppressant off and drops it on the counter by his keys. He goes through his normal pre-sleep routine, caring for his plants and getting changed into pajamas, and still there’s no singing from next door. He can’t figure out what’s gotten into him that’s making him unable to stop thinking about it.

Akaashi recalls Ennoshita’s words.

He frowns to himself as he digs through his junk drawer, pulling out a sticky notes pad and a pen. He’s not quite sure why he’s doing this, but he can’t seem to stop himself, either. He scribbles a song title on the notepad, pulls the top sheet off, and exits his apartment.

He stands in front of his neighbor’s door for a long time, note in his hand. Is he sure he should do this? Is this going to cause the neighbor to come knocking on his door? Is the neighbor going to think he’s super weird? 

He hears footsteps coming up the staircase and startles. He sticks the note on the door hastily, knocks twice, and hightails it back into his own apartment.

What’s done is done, and now he waits.


	4. Each Feather, It Fell From Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <333 Thanks for all your lovely comments and support, you guys!! 
> 
> The song in this chapter is The Crane Wife 3 by The Decemberists

Bokuto takes the stairs two at a time, despite his weariness. His face is still stinging from the blaze they had battled all night, the smoky grime feeling like it had sunk into his skin, never to be removed. He’d rinsed off at the station, but he longs for his own shower and the soothing buildup of steam in the small bathroom. 

His throat is ragged from the smoke, the few moments where the mask slipped or had to be removed to shout over the roar of the fire and the water hose was enough to leave him raw. He doesn’t need any of his rituals to keep him from humming today. He’ll be lucky if his voice recovers by tomorrow.

It’s been bad lately, and getting worse. He’s been with the local fire department for about five years now, and he’d never seen things so out of control. The dry air and lack of rain, the wind, it had become a perfect storm to coax any small flicker into a roaring conflagration. They haven’t lost anyone yet this year, but the ever present dread of that eventuality weighs heavily upon them all. They are lucky that the magicals in their department are well suited for the work, Daichi in particular being vital to the rescue efforts, his stone skin impervious to the flames. 

Though Bokuto hates seeing the look on Kuroo’s face every time he has to remain by the truck as the person he loves rushes in, not able to risk his antimagic field putting Daichi in danger. They were all praying to every old god for rain. But the skies remain clear. 

He huffs out a ragged breath at the top of the stairs, feet dragging as he pulls the keys from his pocket and slides them into the deadbolt of his apartment. It takes him a moment to realize that the sticky note shouldn’t be on the outside of the door like it is. That there’s not a little face drawn on it, reminding him to censor himself. There are words written there. He plucks it from the door, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. In a smooth, neat handwriting the note just says one thing.

_The Crane Wife 3 - The Decemberists, if you please_

Bokuto looks up and down the hallway. He is confused for a moment, but as his mind stumbles for purchase, he seems to recall that The Decemberists are a...band? Was this...a request?

“Did someone…?” he begins, his voice raspy, but he lets the question die. The hallway is quiet, no sound coming from his neighbor or the door across the hall. There are apartments below him too, he supposes. He whips out his phone as he steps through the door, dialing Kuroo’s number. He answers groggily, probably already in the process of passing out. 

“Yeah Bo?”

“Kuroo, someone left me a...a song? On my door? Like a request? Is this...one of those things where someone is trying to tell me something and I’m not getting it?” Bokuto knows he has a big problem picking up on subtle cues. Over the last three years of living with Kuroo, he’d learned a lot about it. Kuroo was so patient most of the time, helping him discern when something had layered meaning, but he still always struggled to figure out what that meaning was on his own. 

Since he’s never met any of his neighbors and knows that his voice is very loud, it was possible this was an act of what Kuroo had taught him was passive aggression. But trying to figure it out in real time is like trying to do an equation with too many letters and not enough numbers in it. Kuroo lets out a sigh.

“What does it say, Bo?”

“The Crane Wife 3, The Decemberists, if you please?” 

“Sounds like a request. Try singing it later and see what happens. Maybe you’ll make a new friend. Now I gotta go, I’m only 18% conscious right now. Get some sleep, buddy.” The line clicks and the call disconnects. Bokuto chews at his lip. 

Plopping down on his couch, he pulls up the song on his phone. Bokuto is not great at remembering stuff, but something he can do, that he’s realized doesn’t come naturally to everyone, is that he only needs to hear a song once to repeat it perfectly. 

He figures it must be a siren thing, wishing for the billionth time and with a pang of hurt that never seems to lessen, that his dad had been able to teach him about it. He closes his eyes as the music starts, the tune melancholy but powerful. There is a sadness but also a defiance within the notes as they move through him and he can almost taste it, the bittersweet longing and sorrow that the fable unveils. 

As it draws to a close, the singer’s voice powerful, a confrontation of self and mistakes and loss, he can’t imagine the person who would request such a song. He sniffs from the tears that had begun to build behind his eyes. This meant enough to someone that they had left it on his door to sing for them. He wishes he knew who they were, wants to sing them a happier song, wants to soothe them with his magic.

The echo of Kuroo’s voice is there in his mind. _Sometimes people just need to be sad or angry or every emotion. You shouldn’t try to fix people by making them feel something else. Just feel it with them._ It was some of the most important words anyone had ever said to him, and he repeats them to himself often so that he won’t forget. 

He showers in uncomfortable silence, bummed that he can’t sing right now, but hopefully by tomorrow he will have working vocals again. This job was rough on him, but the few times he’s managed to save someone, particularly the kids, by drawing them to him with his voice, made everything worthwhile. He can’t imagine doing anything more fulfilling with his magic. As he drifts off to sleep, clean with hair still damp in his soft bed, he wonders about who it is who hears him. He smiles knowing that someone is listening. 

***

A knock on his door wakes him up almost twelve hours later. Early evening light streams in the window and he groans as the aches and pains from last night’s firefight have gripped him fully. He swings out of bed in just his boxers, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and approaches the door. He can hear Kuroo’s smooth voice outside of it, and the moment the words reach comprehension he breathes in a quick gasp.

“...balcony plant guy. Have you guys met yet? He’s loud, but really nice.” There is a soft murmur and Bokuto presses his ear to the door to try to hear better. Kuroo laughs in that sheepish way he sometimes does when he’s talking to someone he wants to impress.

“You wanna come have a beer with us?” Anxiety shoots through him and he grabs for a blanket to wrap around his waist. What is Kuroo doing? Why would he just invite a stranger to come hang out with them? Especially when Bokuto hasn’t seen him all week outside of work! And he hasn’t even crossed paths with this person before!

His neighbor’s voice responds, but he is so soft-spoken that Bokuto doesn’t make out any of the words. Definitely in the lower spectrum, but smooth and light, unhurried.

“Ah, yeah, I get you. We work weird hours sometimes too. We’re with the fire department.” Bokuto rolls his eyes. Just like Kuroo to flex their profession to impress someone. A mumble again from the neighbor.

“Oh, wow. Well, best of luck, here’s hoping it’s a quiet night for you. Let us know if you’re ever free.” He tries hard to listen for words in the muffled response, but Kuroo’s knuckles rap hard against the wood of his door right next to his ear, startling him back. Just as he opens it, Kuroo is staring off to the side, hand still raised, as he catches a glimpse of a figure descending the steps.

“Yeah, I’ll let him...oh shit, Bo!” Kuroo’s expression shifts from cool to excited as he crashes into the apartment, a bag stuffed with carry out containers in one hand. “DUDE! Have you seen your neighbor? Oh my god!” He sets the bag on the coffee table and turns to fan his face.

“N-no. Did he seem nice?” He lets the blanket fall to one side, unconcerned about Kuroo seeing him in his underwear. It is their primary night-in wear anyway. 

“I don’t know, Bokuto! I couldn’t even hear him over his beautiful freaking face! Oh my god, please become friends with that guy so I can come over and stare at him? He might be the most gorgeous human I’ve ever seen.” 

The more Kuroo gushes about him the more panic settles into Bokuto’s gut. He’s nervous enough to meet his neighbors, but the intimidation of knowing they’re also crazy hot is going to drive his nerves into a frenzy. He has trouble saying the right thing to strangers anyway. When they’re also very attractive, he has a bad track record of saying something stupid or off-putting. He chews at the inside of his cheek in irritation.

“Kuroo, you can’t just invite strangers to come hang out with us. What if he already thinks I’m obnoxious? You know that strangers make me nervous.” Kuroo gives him a smug grin which makes him frown.

“Or, what if he is Mister Request?” He plucks the sticky note off the coffee table and waves it around while wiggling his eyebrows. Bokuto just frowns and sticks out his lip in a pout. “Seriously, I think I’m gayer just from being within field radius of him. Oh, by the way, he said you’re watering your hydrangeas too much? Apparently three times a week is best?” 

Bokuto huffs as he looks toward the balcony. Great, so the guy doesn’t even know him and is already judging him on his plants. He stomps over and swings open the sliding door, glaring down at the drooping plant. How could too much water be a problem? It just leaks out the bottom of the pot if he puts too much in. That didn’t even make any sense! 

His eyes stray to the veritable jungle surrounding his neighbor’s balcony. It’s beautiful, not jumbled or overgrown, just full of verdant life weaved together in graceful tangles, vines hanging in lovely patterns from every surface. Butterflies light on the blooms as the setting sun casts the little oasis in golden hues. He picks up his very sad hydrangea and moves it to the side closest to this happy flora. Maybe it would take a hint from them. 

When he steps back inside, Kuroo already has a mouth full of noodles. He holds up his chopsticks as he slurps them down, bouncing his shoulders in joy from the food.

“So when are you gonna sing for this person, huh? Your voice sounds better than it did this morning, that’s for sure. Please don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.” Bokuto falls into the couch next to him, flipping on the TV. 

“I think, in the morning. That’s when I usually sing the most, in the shower. I think if someone is hearing me well enough to request something, it’s got to be then, right?” Kuroo nods enthusiastically in response, chewing through another mouthful.

“Mmhmph, that guy said he works in the ER. You should run into him, ask his name. I mean come on, you both save people for a living! Maybe you-”

“I’M TURNING ON THE SHOW NOW!” Bokuto shouts over him and Kuroo loses his bite of noodles from the chopsticks as he laughs. He sure doesn’t miss all the ribbing Kuroo always gave him. Well...he does miss it. But still. 

It was hard to get to bed after sleeping all day, and even harder to drag himself up with his alarm clock, but the moment he remembers the song, a giddy energy runs through him. Honestly, other than Kuroo spurring him on for them to sing together, no one besides his mom has ever asked him to sing for them before. The music is already curling around his mind when he steps in the bathroom. He reaches for the shower knob, but realizes they will probably hear him best if the water isn’t running. 

He clears his throat, hoping desperately that the person is listening. His eyes stray to the far wall. What if it is the man Kuroo met in the hallway? Was he there now, waiting, ear pressed to the wall?

Bokuto shakes his head to clear the thought. He could feel the strumming guitar in his chest, even though it wouldn’t break free from his mind like the vocals would. The song will be different without it. He raises his chin, breathing deep as the magic floods heavy through him. 

“ _And under the boughs unbowed. All clothed in a snowy shroud._ ” His voice rises like a hymn against the close walls of the little bathroom. Without the accompaniment, the sorrow in the chords is undiminished and the notes flow from him with pure reverence.

“ _She had no heart so hardened. And under the bows unbound._ ” The silence at the verse end is as heavy with meaning as the words and he lets it hang as long as the song intended, fists clenched at his side. 

“ _Each feather, it fell from skin. 'Til threadbare while she grew thin. How were my eyes so blinded? Each feather, it fell from skin._ ” And he is glad that the barrier protects his listener from the surge of emotion that rushes through him, knows that it would hurt them if they could feel it. But there is a deep sorrow in that too, knowing that no one wants the full experience of him, the unfiltered exposure of his voice. He will always have to be muffled, faded, because no one could take the full force of him and still choose to stay. No one, not even Kuroo. 

“ _And I will hang my head, hang my head low. And I will hang my head, hang my head low._ ” He sings the chorus soft, sweet, heavy with tragedy of past mistakes hung low on the shoulders of the writer. But he feels it in his own facet, a hopelessness that memory will never release him from his own flaws. That the things that make him whole are just links of a chain that bind him from knowing freedom. 

“ _A gray sky, a bitter sting. A rain cloud, a crane on wing. All out beyond horizon. A gray sky, a bitter sting. And I will hang my head, hang my head low_.” He repeats the chorus, rising in power and then decrescendoing into a soft and mournful mantra until the song dies on his lips. There is a drip on his foot, and only then does he realize that he is crying. He can’t even stand his own voice unbound. 

He turns on the water to fill the silence, but looks up as he wipes fiercely at his face. 

“Please listen tomorrow! I, I have something else for you!” He hopes that they hear him. The roar of the water fills his ears as he steps beneath the shower and it grants him some small relief. He hopes they are okay, the person behind this song. He flattens a hand against the wall, wondering. He hopes...that it brought them comfort.


	5. Classy Girls Don't Kiss in Bars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for the kind comments and kudos <3 The song for this chapter is "Classy Girls" by the Lumineers, plus a few more that get mentioned by name. Enjoy the chapter!

Akaashi is fairly certain he’s made a mistake, and it’s one that leaves him irritable in his waking hours for the rest of the day.

The thing is, with all the other songs the neighbor had sung thus far, they hadn’t been songs Akaashi had known. And so, sure, the voice singing them was nice and it was a lovely musical experience, but that was the end of it.

With this latest performance, however, it had been his own suggestion, and as such he’d suggested one of his favorite songs, one that’s kept him company over a great many years. 

And the stranger had absolutely  _ ruined it _ for him.

It wasn’t that the performance was bad. It was quite the opposite. It was too good. It blew the original recording out of the park. Akaashi would never again be satisfied with the original artist’s version of this song--and he’d tried to be satisfied, on repeat for several hours. It had been an exercise in futility. In the end he’d only ended up more frustrated, because no voice could capture the meaning of the song the way his neighbor’s had, not even the person who wrote the damn thing.

Around seven the next morning, he goes out on the balcony as he normally does. He tries not to rush through his routine, but he can’t seem to get the neighbor out of his mind. He’d been promised something more today, and despite the ridiculous circumstances surrounding the way he and his neighbor are communicating, he’s actually looking forward to it.

Damn Ennoshita and his good ideas.

While Akaashi’s working on his own plants, he takes another look at the sad hydrangeas on the siren’s balcony. It seems he’s laid off the watering some since Akaashi had passed that tip on through his messy-haired friend, but they still could use...something. Akaashi takes a deep breath before sending some energy in their direction. They perk up, their leaves turning toward him, and Akaashi spares a smile. If nothing else, it’s a nice way to thank the neighbor for his beautiful songs. Even if they do piss him off, at least a little.

As he returns inside, he hears the water turn on next door. He settles on his couch, which has its back to the wall he shares with the siren neighbor, and pulls his feet up underneath him just as he begins to sing.

_ Well she was standing in a bar, I said, "Hello, how do you do?" She handed me a beer with a kangaroo.  _

The song is upbeat, making Akaashi tap one foot subconsciously. He closes his eyes as the music washes over him.

_ She spoke of places I had never been that she had traveled to and we slow danced alone to faster tunes. I made her laugh, I made a pass, I showed her my half-dollar ring, she said, "that’s pretty cool, but classy girls don’t kiss in bars, you fool.” _

He huffs a quiet laugh. He’s not sure what made his neighbor pick this song in particular, but the lyrics are whimsical, and he’s drawn into the story it tells. In his mind, he pictures a faceless man dancing in the shower, enraptured by his own music, and it makes his heart swell with happiness.

_ So later on the crowd calmed down and I believe it was as if something drew me closer to her lips. So picture my surprise when I had tried to lean in for a kiss and she just smiled and turned her head down quick. _

Akaashi does a quick google search for the lyrics. It won’t be quite the same, but he does add the original song to his playlist to listen to again in the future. If nothing else, it will remind him of his neighbor, of the joy he infuses into every song and the way he’d picked this one out specifically for Akaashi.

_ I asked her why, and she replied it was nothing I was doing wrong, it’s just what it is, but classy girls don’t kiss in bars like this. _

As the song winds down, Akaashi finds himself with a smile on his face. He brings his fingers up to his lips, tracing the curve of it tentatively, and then placing the same hand on the wall against the neighbor’s apartment. He’s off the sofa and crossing over to the kitchen to find a sticky note before he’s quite sure what he’s doing. 

_ Thanks for today’s song. It made me smile. How about “Cough Syrup” tomorrow? - A.K. _

He considers knocking when he places it on the next door over, but in the end he decides against it. He knows his mystery singer is home right now, knows that just on the other side of this door is the face of the man who’s been serenading him. But something feels almost...fragile about their relationship as it is now. Akaashi wonders if maybe he prefers the mystery of it all to the actual music.

Ennoshita would say he’s being a coward. What Ennoshita doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He returns to his own apartment, still smiling just a bit, and falls asleep with his neighbor’s voice on repeat in his head. 

***

Sure enough, his neighbor does a soulful, heartfelt rendition of “Cough Syrup” the next morning. “I don’t know why you keep having me sing these sad songs,” he says afterwards, just loud enough for Akaashi to hear. “Don’t request anything for tomorrow. I want to sing you something happy.”

And so Akaashi lets him. Through the wall come brightly sung lyrics:  _ You put the sunflowers in my bed at night! You put the lemonade in my head! _ Akaashi finds himself bopping his head in time to the music and giggles when the neighbor does a decent rendition of the guitar solo with just his voice.

He’s not specifically forbidden from leaving requests that day, so he leaves “Stones Around the Sun” and a drawing of a sunflower on his sticky note. The neighbor complies, but the next day he comes back with “It’s Alright.” After Akaashi requests “Hello My Old Heart,” the neighbor sings “Angel, Please.” For every sad song Akaashi writes on a sticky note and places on his neighbor’s door, his neighbor gives him back a little bit of joy.

It’s sweet. 

It’s nothing any good neighbor wouldn’t do.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Ennoshita says when Akaashi lets it slip.

Akaashi frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re crushing on him.”

“What?”

Ennoshita laughs. “Come on, Akaashi-kun. Your entire relationship is him singing to you.”

“I’ve been helping with his plants,” Akaashi says, feeling strangely defensive. “And trust me, they’ve needed it.”

Ennoshita raises his eyebrows. Akaashi realizes he’s maybe not helping his own case.

“My point,” Ennoshita says, decidedly ignoring Akaashi’s crossed arms, “is that you’re only letting him see what you want him to see. Meanwhile, it sounds like he’s exposing everything to you--”

“Word choice, Ennoshita-san.”

“Metaphorically speaking, he’s exposing everything to you and you are, as usual, hiding.” Ennoshita fixes him with a hard look.

Akaashi sighs. “It was your advice I was following in the first place.”

“Yes, and I’m telling you you’ve progressed beyond that stage now. Go introduce yourself. See this guy who makes you smile.”

“He doesn’t make me--”

“You get this tiny little smile every time you talk about him, Akaashi-kun, I’ve known you long enough to see it.”

Akaashi arranges his face into total neutrality. “He doesn’t make me smile.”

Ennoshita shakes his head. “You don’t have to get defensive. It’s not a bad thing.”

Akaashi’s pager goes off. There’s a patient who needs him. He gives Ennoshita a long glance.

“I can’t make friends, Ennoshita-san,” he says. “It’s too dangerous for them.”

“You know better than anyone that what people say about your magic is a lie.”

“I have to go.”

Akaashi turns and pointedly doesn’t look back at Ennoshita as he goes to answer the page.

***

Akaashi’s half-awake when he stops by his mailbox the next morning. He fumbles with his keys, trying to find the one that goes into the box with his number on it. Loud steps head down the stairs and Akaashi tries to suppress a groan. He’s not social at the best of times; having just completed his third twelve in a row, he’s hardly at his best at the moment. He grabs his mail and turns, only to find himself blocked by the man who’d descended the stairs. 

“Oh, hi!” says the man. Akaashi eyes him up and down. His hair is spiked in a way that seems mildly unnatural, and either he dyed it gray and let his roots grow or he dyed just his roots black. Either way, it seems odd. He’s muscular, too, and Akaashi wonders briefly what sort of work might require such a built physique. “I’m Bokuto Koutarou. I just moved in.”

“Nice to meet you,” Akaashi says shortly. 

The man reaches for his mail, and in the next moment Akaashi’s heart stops.

He’d grabbed from the box directly next to Akaashi’s own.

This is Akaashi’s new neighbor. The siren.

“What did you say your name was?” Bokuto asks, turning back to him with a smile.

Akaashi looks at him again. He’s got a nice smile. He’s got a nicer voice.

“I have to go,” Akaashi says.

If Bokuto says anything to Akaashi’s rapidly retreating back, he doesn’t hear it, too busy clambering up the stairs to listen.


	6. What Was It Like To Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, babes. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.  
> Trigger Warning list in the end chapter notes which contains spoilers. They relate to the tags already present, so please be mindful. 
> 
> Songs featured in this chapter in order of appearance:
> 
> Cringe by Matt Maeson  
> Blackbird by The Beatles  
> The Hearse by Matt Maeson

He tries to say something, anything to the retreating form of the beautiful man who had lingered at the mailbox, but he can’t think properly after the harsh rebuttal. He’s only met one other person in the complex so far and had practiced the greeting many times and he swore he wasn’t singing, so why had the guy run? 

The thought crosses his mind that maybe he was the one leaving the notes, but that seemed too much of a coincidence. Maybe it was the next door neighbor, the one Kuroo had said was so hot, that definitely tracked, except...Kuroo thought Daichi was the hottest and that guy didn’t look anything like Daichi. He was tall and lithe, his face pretty, eyes lidded. Bokuto chews at his lip. He wants to ask Kuroo about it, but he’s off today and he’s not supposed to call him for small things anymore. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, bounding through his door and latching it shut. He looks over at the sticky notes, plastered to the wall haphazardly and runs his fingers over them for the thousandth time. He feels bad that he will have to postpone his song for his only fan until tomorrow, but he has a few things to do before settling in for his shower. He steps out on the balcony with his little watering can, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The hydrangea is blooming, bright and vibrant, even better than it had at his mother’s house. It almost seems to reach toward the lush forest on the next door balcony, all petals and leaves facing toward it, like the sun itself is hiding among those many vines. He tips the end of the can over it, letting the water fall, but there’s a part of him that feels a hint of envy. He wishes he could just place it on the other balcony, where it obviously wants to be. He brushes his fingers through the delicate blooms, feeling too big and clumsy, not someone who should have something so lovely and fragile. He sighs.

“Sorry, little buddy. I’m trying.” He turns to pick up a few beer bottles he and Kuroo had left out, not even noticing that he starts to hum until he hears the sliding door on the other balcony unlatch and shift. He jerks up, quieting and turns, ready to greet his neighbor for the first time.

“Hello! It’s nice to-” before he can even catch a glimpse of them, the door slams shut, the latch reengaging. He sags, shoulders slumping as he looks sadly down at his plant. “Meet you…” 

He angrily slams open and shut the glass door, unsatisfied with the lack of ruckus it makes. What was wrong with him? Why did he keep putting people off? He had been humming this time. Maybe his neighbor felt some effects and had gotten scared or annoyed. Or maybe they were just tired of overhearing him sing all the time. Or maybe he is just only good for one thing and, outside of his job, he is nothing but a burden on everyone around him. 

It used to be that in these moments of crushing self-doubt Kuroo would notice, like a sixth sense, and swoop in to encourage him. But not now. His apartment is empty and the silence feels like an affirmation to his thoughts. And like always, his mind fills that silence with music, providing the only outlet he knows how to use.

“ _Lover, come over. Look what I’ve done. I’ve been alone so long, I feel like I’m on the run._ ” The watering can finds the countertop and Bokuto’s feet lead him across the room to the array of post-it notes, which feel like his greatest connection to anyone in the whole world right now.

“ _Lover, come over. Kick up the dust. I’ve got a secret, starting to rust._ ” He hates this. Hates that this is all he gets of them, just tiny words scrawled on yellow paper that hold within them what seems to be a torrential sorrow. He drops his hands and glares at them.

“ _She said I’m looking like a bad man, smooth criminal. She said my spirit doesn’t move like it did before._ ” He swipes a hand across the notes, sending them cascading to the floor. “ _She said that I don’t look like me no more, no more. I said I’m just tired. She said you’re just high._ ”

He slams his back against the wall, hands going to his face as he sinks to the floor. “ _I said I saw you in the water…_ ”

***

A lonely week passes. He tries not to read into the request of “Missed Connection,” responds with “Learn To Let Go.” It feels like trying to have a conversation between gasps for breath. He needs it, feels like the little notes are the only proof that his feet are still held to the ground, but it’s not enough. A drop of water while he’s dying of thirst. 

Kuroo comes over, but it feels hollow to him. He’s lousy at hiding his emotions and his friend notices right away, but Kuroo doesn’t press him on it and he’s grateful. Kuroo looks at the notes on the wall, the old ones stuck back up with tape. There are seven of them now, and below each lovely script with the request is Bokuto’s chicken scratch detailing the song he followed up with. Kuroo passes him a searching glance over his shoulder.

“Wow, you guys have really kept at it. Any idea who it could be yet?” 

“No.” Kuroo waits, seeing if he will add anything. Bokuto is never succinct. When he doesn’t say anything else, his closest friend crosses the room and steps out on the balcony. 

“Wow, your plant looks really good. Maybe your neighbor really does have some kinda affinity for it.” 

“I wouldn’t know.” Bokuto slumps further into the couch, feeling miserable. Kuroo comes back in and falls down next to him, leaning heavily into his side. Bokuto’s annoyed, but at the same time, he hasn’t been touched like this since Kuroo’s last visit and the contact is soothing, so he doesn’t rebuff him. He means to scowl, but based on Kuroo’s chuckle and grin, he hasn’t succeeded.

“Why are you so pouty today? You’ve been dragging at work too. Did something happen?”

“Kuroo, are you just humoring me by being my friend?” He’s never been good at subtlety, so the real question just pours from him.

“What? No, of course not! Do you think I would have lived with you for several years and then kept coming back to visit if I didn’t honestly like being around you? I love you, man. Buddy, talk to me. What’s going on?” An arm falls around his shoulders and he huffs out a heavy sigh. 

“I ran into someone at the mailboxes last week. I wasn’t humming, I said all the right words, and they basically ran away from me. Didn’t tell me their name or anything, just pshew…” he flings his hand forward with the exclamation, like a race car taking off. “Then, that same morning, I was out on the balcony, and yes, I was humming, but I stopped as soon as I heard the neighbor’s door open. I went to say hi and they just slammed it shut. Two people in like, the same hour deemed me unworthy of even giving their name. What’s wrong with me, Kuroo?” He buries his face in his hands and Kuroo’s arm around him squeezes tight. 

“What did the person you met by the mailbox look like?” Bokuto frowns at him, not really understanding why that should be important. 

“About my height but thin, short dark hair that was curly, deep blue eyes, so pretty he kinda made my chest ache…” He grips at his shirt over his heart, feeling once again that nervous clench he felt when he stood in front of the guy.

“Okay, so, that sounds a lot like your neighbor. Maybe it wasn’t two people. Maybe it was just the one. And maybe he’s actually just a dick. Sometimes people are just assholes, Bo. You know that. There’s nothing wrong with you. Anyone who calls you a friend is damn lucky and anyone who doesn’t give you a chance is a complete fool.” Kuroo hugs him tight and he feels one traitorous tear slip down his face. 

“It’s really hard without you, Kuroo,” he admits, finally turning to put his arms around his friend and bring him close. Kuroo rubs his back in soothing circles.

“I know, buddy. You’re doing great though. I’m really proud of you.” And that’s how he knows that Kuroo doesn’t get it. He’s proud of him, but actually, Bokuto is barely hanging on. He feels like at any moment he could trip and fall and not be able to get back up again. It’s not getting better like Kuroo said it would. It’s getting worse. 

***

The next time a note is left on his door, he leaves it. He doesn’t sing. He knows it’s bad to keep it pent up, but in a way, he wants to punish the stranger for not being willing to close the gap between them. Two full days slip by and he barely hums a single note. 

He feels like a bucket that is filling with water, but rather than spilling over, he just gets deeper. And of course, that’s when it happens.

The worst thing that can happen. The worst combination of things that can happen. The actual worst case scenario. 

The fire was a multi-alarm, as hot and hellish as they can be. Their unit had been first on the scene, but now dozens of firefighters are working the blaze, at least three trucks present, though there could be more on the other side. Fire chief Ukai barks orders as black smoke billows out of the windows of the old apartment complex. Bokuto's arms are already tired from helping wield one of the hoses when the unit captain tugs at his coat. 

“Bokuto, there’s a boy on the second floor they can’t get to. They need you in there. Be careful.” He nods, making his way toward the ladder that leads to the second floor window. He can see Daichi above, signaling him to hurry, and he takes the rungs faster than he thought his arms could manage. As Daichi hauls him in, his stone skin firm and unbreakable under Bokuto’s hands, they nod to each other. 

The hallway they are in is dark, the smoke and steam from the water making it impossible to see. They crawl along the floor, the air so hot that everything feels stifling. The heavy sounds of his breath fill his ears through the breathing apparatus as he keeps a tight grip on the lead line attached to Daichi’s waist. Crawling through the thick smoke always seemed to take an eternity, all his senses somehow both heightened by adrenaline and also muffled by the heavy gear to protect him from the fire and the smoke.

The cord pulls to his right and he follows, barely seeing Daichi’s hand beckon to him. He continues to crawl forward until their heads are next to each other. Thankfully the sounds of the fire have mostly subsided here, to that eerie quiet of the smoke-muffled room. He can barely hear Daichi’s voice but he knows from experience that the mask won’t block his magic once he starts to sing.

“There’s a kid about two meters from us. The roof is collapsing and we don’t have time or the ability to go in and get him. We need him to come to us.”

“I can’t see him though…” Without eyes on him, it is impossible to target the boy specifically. Daichi and anyone else who happens to be close enough to hear could be drawn to Bokuto too. It was far from the first time they’d had to risk it, but usually it wasn’t when there were so many units around them. He meets Daichi’s eyes, the trust he finds there the opposite of how he feels about himself in the moment. Still, he has a job to do and he sucks in a deep breath that smells like plastic and a hint of char.

“ _Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arrive. Blackbird, fly…_ ” He’s trying to direct the context, trying to call to him, to inspire the courage for the boy to move. It’s always fear that keeps them rooted, and drawing them in means subverting that fear. 

The mask feels stifling. He can’t...he can’t breathe right in it. He reaches up to move it out of the way, lost in the power of the song. His next words feel clear and strong as they punch through the cloudy darkness and Daichi jerks against him, but when he takes a breath it catches in his lungs like hooks, choking off the song. His head spins and he looks up just in time to see the smoke clear for a second, the face of a small boy pale in realization as fear grips him anew. He’s part way out of fallen debris, but the smoke is stinging Bokuto’s eyes. Daichi lunges forward and he hears the boy screech over his own ragged coughs. 

There’s a rumbling, shifting sound and then a crunch which ends in a roar. A human sound cuts through, close and familiar, but he can’t make it out over the sound of falling rubble, just knows he’s being thrown back, his mask pressed to his face, and he’s fighting against it, trying to escape. The intense pressure on his chest is too heavy and he can’t breathe, and his eyes are burning, and his skin is so hot. He blinks through tears, trying to see what’s happening and feels heavy hands on him, the outline of a person coming into focus. He can’t recognize them and panic flares within him, a terror that he’s being held down into the fire and the poisonous smoke. So he does the only thing his body knows how to do when his strength won’t defend him. He hums.

He’s never used it like this, to inspire fear in his attacker, but with the adrenaline and his own fear he doesn’t even need words for the magic to slam home. Suddenly he’s free, grabbing at the mask and pressing it to his face. He needs to get out, his lungs ravaged from the smoke. He finds a doorway and sees some light, recognizes the yellow stripes on his comrade’s coats as strong arms lift him. Finally, he’s peering down the ladder and then taking the rungs one at a time, sharp words of encouragement urging him on. As he reaches the ground his knees buckle as he pulls the helmet and mask from his head, coughing roughly. When he looks up it’s Kuroo’s face in front of him, fear and panic written across his features.

“Bo, Bo! Where’s Daichi? They said he wasn’t with you!” The memories slam together in a sickening moment of clarity. The boy, the rubble falling around him, Daichi...it had been him pressing into Bokuto. Trying to hold the mask to his face that he had foolishly torn off, trying to protect him from the falling debris with his stone body. And Bokuto had…

“Oh god, Kuroo. Kuroo, the boy, we...Kuroo I...I made a mistake.” More coughing wracks him but Kuroo is grabbing his shoulders, shaking him.

“What do you mean? What do you mean, Bo!?” The tears that streak his face are no longer from the smoke as guilt crushes against his lungs. He looks into Kuroo’s stricken face.

“I...I thought he was crushing me. I scared him away. I used my voice…” Kuroo shoves him away and rushes toward the building, but several other firefighters grab him, holding him back. Because Daichi’s best chance for survival means him staying outside the building, as far from wherever his love could be, afraid, alone. He yells Daichi’s name. 

Bokuto has lost four people prior to this, each one a hole in his heart. But no moment is so horrible as this one, watching his closest friend thrash and scream as their friends hold him back. Knowing that he has lost that child. Knowing that he may have lost Daichi.

And it is entirely his fault. 

They do find Daichi. He is alive, but unconscious. He had hidden until the air in his tank ran out. With Kuroo’s help they are able to treat him, but he has to be hospitalized, along with three other firefighters who had come close to losing their lives to rescue him. By the time Bokuto makes it home five hours later Daichi hasn't yet woken. 

He feels numb as he opens the door. The last time Kuroo had looked at him his eyes had been full of anger and betrayal, and the image was burned into him stronger than the smoke that had ravaged his lungs. The numbness is welcome, but the moment that it starts to recede it gives way to crippling self-loathing. Standing here in his barren apartment, the most salient example of his loneliness, the dam finally breaks.

A terrible wail and sob shake through him. This is why no one trusts sirens. They can do anything to you. They can seduce away the most loyal partner, can tear happiness from the most joyous child, inspire rage in the most serene heart. They can make the bravest man cower in fear. They can make their friend run into a raging fire. 

He is a terrible person. He is a monster. No wonder everyone pulls away, no wonder no one wants to know him. He is dangerous. He looks down at the black char on his hands and clenches them into fists as music boils up inside of him and he lets it tear out of his raw vocal chords.

“ _I am the man we both couldn’t stand. I can’t wash off the dirt from my hands. What was it like to feel in love? What was it like to feel in love?_ ” And he thinks about how it used to be, his many days spent with Kuroo, his friend’s patience and understanding. He loves him so much, his dearest friend, and he’s been afraid to lose him to his romance with Daichi, but in the end, it is Bokuto who has pushed him away. It can never be the same. Kuroo will never trust him again. 

“ _I can’t scrub off the black from my lungs. I can’t wipe off the taste from my tongue. What was it like to feel in love? What was it like to feel in love?_ ” Each line pours louder and louder from his lips and he kneels upon the floor, too heavy with the weight of his sins to stand.

“ _I will never go backwards, I will never be free. I will never run faster, will you sink down to me? I will never go backwards, I will never be seen. In the weight of disaster, will you sink down to me?_ ” There is a pounding at his door and he gasps ragged breaths as he gives it a withering stare, horrified. Are they insane? They need to stay away. He will hurt them. 

“Get away! I’m dangerous! Do you want to get hurt?!” He shouts at them, but the momentum of the song continues in his mind and he can’t turn it off. 

“ _I am the house that’s built upon sand. I am the thought that you couldn’t plan. What was it like to feel in love? What was it like to feel in love?_ ” There’s roaring in his ears which drowns out everything beyond his ragged voice, pouring out the terrible, dark feeling that is strangling him. He doesn’t hear the balcony shake. He doesn’t see the face in the glass.

“ _I’m the escape to something that’s worse. I am the shadow driving the hearse. What was it like to feel in love? What was it like to feel?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: being inside a building on fire, claustrophobia, unnamed child character death (non-graphic), feelings of suffocation, feelings of self-blame and extreme guilt, danger
> 
> Sorry sorry, I know this is a rough chapter. patpat, it'll be okay. <3


	7. To Use Our Lungs for Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, sorry to leave you guys in such pain there. Akaashi is here now :) Song for this chapter is "Native Tongue" by Switchfoot

The music coming from the neighbor’s apartment is wrong. 

His voice is sad. Sadder than Akaashi has ever heard him be. And maybe he doesn’t have any right to be worried; the neighbor has made it clear over the last week that he’s done entertaining whatever budding relationship they might have had (had he figured out who Akaashi was from the morning at the mailboxes? Was he blaming himself for Akaashi’s social shortcomings?) but he can’t help but worry, especially as the voice swells into the chorus.

He makes a decision and leaves the apartment before he can stop himself, walking quickly to the neighbor’s door and pounding at it. “Bokuto-san? Please, let me in.”

There is only continued wailing, perhaps an attempt at words, but Akaashi doesn’t quite understand them through the sobs. 

Whoever he is, whatever he’s done, he shouldn’t be alone right now. Akaashi knows that to his very core. He takes a deep breath and reenters his apartment, heading straight for the balcony. He pauses only long enough to place his suppressant in his pocket.

He has to carefully rearrange the plants on the side of his balcony that leads to his neighbor’s. He sets them on the cement with a word of apology to each one. Once they’re clear, he takes a deep breath and lets the magic come to life inside of him. Vines grow from his body and extend, and he manipulates them into bridging the gap between the two balconies. He crosses it quickly and retracts the vines before tapping sharply on the glass door.

Bokuto looks up at him with a face streaked in tears and something black and dirty; Akaashi’s not at all certain he’s even seeing what’s in front of him. Luckily he’s left his back door unlocked, and Akaashi slips inside the apartment for the first time via the balcony.

“Bokuto-san,” he says, loudly enough to be heard but not so loud that he might scare the man on the floor. He pulls his suppressant out of his pocket and shoves it back onto his wrist The remaining vines that hang from his body shrink and recede. “Bokuto-san, I’m Akaashi Keiji. I’m your neighbor. I heard your singing…”

“Get back!” Bokuto shouts, looking up suddenly and holding up a hand, also quite dirty. “I’m dangerous!”

“I’ve never thought so,” Akaashi says. “Against my better judgment, I quite like your voice.”

Bokuto blinks, his eyes clearing a bit. “You’ve been hearing it all along,” he murmurs. “You’ve been leaving the requests.”

His eyes flicker to the wall, where all of Akaashi’s post-its are displayed. Akaashi looks at them for a long moment, his heart pounding, before looking back to Bokuto. 

“Yes,” he affirms. “I’ve been leaving the requests.”

Bokuto’s features soften for a moment as he looks at Akaashi, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips before he rearranges into misery again. “I stopped taking them, so what do you care?” he accuses.

Akaashi walks slowly toward him. “You’ve never sounded like this before. I was...worried.”

Bokuto huffs, and more tears fall from his eyes. “I deserve to feel like this.”

“I very much doubt that,” Akaashi says, and he’s not thinking of all the joy Bokuto has brought him. He’s not. He’s standing just above Bokuto now, and he sinks to his knees as haltingly as he can. 

“You don’t know what I did,” Bokuto whispers. He looks up and meets Akaashi’s eyes. “I killed a child. I almost killed my best friend, and it’s entirely my fault.”

Akaashi stares into Bokuto’s wide, golden eyes, sticking out against the stark contrast of dirt on his face. Now that he’s seen them, he won’t ever be able to unsee them. They’re beautiful, and haunting, and there’s an alarm bell somewhere in the back of his mind that reminds him that the man in front of him is a siren, probably designed to lure him in like this. Akaashi reaches out and takes both his hands in his own.

“Tell me what happened,” he says.

***

“...and now he’s gonna hate me forever,” Bokuto says, his voice wobbling out at the end. Akaashi looks up from where they’re connected, where he’s been rubbing his thumb along the back of Bokuto’s hand, leaving a spot that’s slightly less sooty than the rest of his skin. If he looked, he supposes his own thumb would be quite black, and there’s definitely a joke in there somewhere.

“I don’t think he’s going to hate you forever,” Akaashi says softly. “Your friend is going to be fine. You all work a very risky job, and you were aware of that going in.”

“Today didn’t have to be risky for him,” Bokuto insists. There’s a flash of anger in his face, but it drops away just as fast. His head falls. “He would have been fine if it hadn’t been for me. And the boy…” His voice gives out, emotion evident in the way he clenches his fist at his side. 

“You were doing what you were asked to do, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says quietly. He wants to reach out, but he keeps his hands to himself. “You did the best you could.”

Bokuto just shakes his head. 

Akaashi sighs. “You’ll feel better after a shower. Come on.”

Bokuto grumbles, but doesn’t outright argue. Akaashi stands and tugs Bokuto to his feet, and it’s not like he wasn’t aware before that the man is made of solid muscle, but it’s hard to ignore when he’s an opposing force against Akaashi’s. He holds in mental commentary and crowds Bokuto into the bathroom.

“What kind of takeout do you prefer?” Akaashi asks.

Bokuto looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’m hungry,” Akaashi replies. “And I would venture to guess you are, too.”

“Don’t order takeout, I’ll just eat some ramen after I shower.”

Akaashi frowns. “Chicken or steak?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Both, then.”

“Steak, alright? Are you always like this?”

Akaashi gives him a hint of a smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

Akaashi retreats and listens for the sound of the water. When it turns on he goes out to the living room with a sigh. After ordering their food he’s too restless to sit. He imagines he won’t often be in the apartment without supervision, so he allows himself to explore. 

The notes from the requests are all lined up on the wall in order of when Akaashi requested them. Each one has a note in a messy scrawl underneath, and upon further examination they seem to be the songs that Bokuto responded with. The last note he’d left is nowhere to be found. He wonders if Bokuto had crumpled it up, frustrated with Akaashi’s lack of contact except through the notes. He wonders again if Bokuto had figured out about the day at the mailboxes. He runs his fingers along the first note-- _ The Crane Wife 3 - The Decemeberists, if you please _ \--and the little frowny face beside it, the words  _ Classy Girls? _ written underneath. 

The kitchen is bare bones, containing only the most basic pots and pans, and Akaashi can’t help but wonder if Bokuto does much cooking. The thought of him in the kitchen, an apron around his waist, dancing and singing to himself, makes Akaashi smile. 

There are several pictures in the apartment, mostly of Bokuto with the man Akaashi had met in the hallway--Kuroo, Bokuto had said. A few also feature another man with dark hair and a bright smile. This must be the Daichi Bokuto had spoken of. There’s also a single photo of Bokuto with a woman who looks remarkably like him, which Akaashi would assume is his mother. Her smile is brilliant, just like Bokuto’s had been the day at the mailboxes. 

It’s only then that he notices the quiet in the apartment. The water is still running, but where there should be song, there is none. Akaashi frowns.

After a few more minutes the water shuts off, and Akaashi has to discontinue his snooping. He finds a few volumes of a shoujo manga in a box next to the couch and picks one up. He crosses his legs on the cushion and begins to read.

“Are you a fan of  _ Nozaki-kun _ ?” Bokuto asks, coming out from the bedroom in a stretched out tee and a pair of pajama bottoms. He’s still toweling his head.

Akaashi sets the book aside, not sure how long he’s been invested. “I’ve never read it before, but it does seem fairly interesting. I wanted to be a mangaka at one point.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling Bokuto this. 

“What stopped you?” Bokuto asks.

Akaashi shrugs. “Familial expectation, I suppose. My parents wanted me to become a doctor or a lawyer.”

“So which are you?”

“A nurse, actually.” Which is far more than enough personal information for the day. Akaashi changes the subject. “You weren’t singing, in the shower.”

Bokuto’s face, which had begun to lighten a bit, clouds over once again. “No, I, uh. I can’t sing around other people.”

He disappears for a moment. Akaashi gathers his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his shins. When Bokuto reappears, his hair is brushed to the back, so unlike the spikes he’d sported the other time they’d met. Some part of Akaashi wants to reach out and run his hands through it. Bokuto crosses over to the couch and sits beside Akaashi, leaning back against the cushion and looking up at the ceiling.

“You can put whatever emotion you please into your music, right?” Akaashi asks. “So if you wanted to sing around someone else, why not put joy or happiness into it?”

Bokuto tilts his head down and shakes it solemnly. “I don’t want to influence other people like that. People’s emotions should be their own, not something I’m putting on them.”

Akaashi swallows. “I’ve missed your voice,” he admits, looking intently at his knees. “The last few days.”

“Why did you run away?” Bokuto asks.

Akaashi looks up at him. He doesn’t seem angry. A little hurt, maybe, but not angry.

“I’m not good at talking to people,” he says, which is definitely part of the truth.

“You haven’t had any trouble today,” Bokuto observes.

Akaashi doesn’t have a response to that. Bokuto’s right; he hasn’t felt any hesitation in conversing at all today. Maybe it’s the influence of the music they’ve shared, or maybe it’s just something about the way Bokuto looks at him. He doesn’t want to investigate either of those things right now.

Instead he unfurls himself from the couch and crosses over to the counter, where he’d seen Bokuto’s suppressant earlier. He grabs it and goes to stand next to Bokuto, holding it out in front of him.

“Will you sing for me?” he asks.

Bokuto looks between Akaashi’s face and the suppressant. He scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know, Akaashi…It’s not very comfortable to wear it.”

Akaashi ignores the lack of honorific and pushes it a little closer to Bokuto. “Come on. Just for a few minutes. It’ll make you feel better.”

“How do you know that?” Bokuto asks.

Akaashi takes a deep breath. “Because it makes me feel better.”

He and Bokuto stare at each other for another moment before Bokuto takes the suppressant and slips it on his wrist. “Any requests?” he asks.

Akaashi shakes his head. “One of your favorites. Something that makes you want to dance.”

Bokuto huffs, half a smile creeping onto his face. He appears to think for a moment before taking a deep breath.

_ “Sing to me, baby, in your native tongue, sing the words of the wise and the young. Show me the place where your words come from. Love's the language, love’s your native tongue.” _

It’s not a song Akaashi knows. The words start out soft, like Bokuto isn’t quite sure of himself, but they grow slowly in steadiness and volume.

_ “Feel your heartbeat, bang the drum, open up your eyes and fill your lungs: the same word from where the stars were flung, love's the language, love's your native tongue.” _

Bokuto keeps his eyes shut, and Akaashi is thankful for not having to worry about where to look. Instead he can drink in Bokuto’s expression: the love he has for singing, the deep connection he feels with the music, it’s all written in his features, and Akaashi has never seen anything more beautiful.

_ “My heart is a beating drum, my head in oblivion, my soul such a long way from my lips, my lungs, my native tongue.” _

Akaashi knows full well Bokuto’s wearing the suppressant; he can see the stark white plastic sticking out against Bokuto’s skin. And yet the words, the music, fill him with such a need to burst out in song that he has to actively fight against the urge to do so. Bokuto stands and begins to sway as he continues.

_ “My friend, where did we go wrong? My Lord, we forgot our song, my soul such a long way from my lips, my lungs, my native tongue.” _

Slowly, a smile creeps onto Bokuto’s face. The movement, the music pouring from him, it’s working to cheer him up, and the brightness Akaashi recognizes from their brief interaction before begins to seep back into him. The shadows still hang over him, but the stress, the pain, the grief, they all fade away, if only for a few moments as he sings.

_ “I want the world to sing in her native tongue, to sing it like when we were young, back before the pendulum had swung to the shadows. I want the world to sing in her native tongue, maybe we could learn to sing along, to find a way to use our lungs for love and not the shadows.” _

By the end of the song, Bokuto is rightly dancing, throwing his hips back and forth to the beat and doing something with his arms that Akaashi doesn’t think he could replicate if he tried. When he’s done singing, he opens his eyes and fixes Akaashi with the full brilliance of his smile. Akaashi’s heart skips a beat.

(“You have a crush, Akaashi-kun,” says Ennoshita in his head. Akaashi promptly tells him to shut up.)

“I do feel better,” Bokuto admits, a little breathless. He reaches out and takes both of Akaashi’s hands in his own. “Thanks, Akaashi. I know we just met, but you’re a really good person, you know?”

Akaashi opens his mouth to argue, to protest, to do anything to deflect the weight of Bokuto’s attention, but there aren’t any words that come to his mouth. As he fights for a response, there’s a knock at the door.

“That’ll be dinner,” he says. He wrenches himself away from Bokuto. He blinks several times on his way to the door, trying to fight the spots in his eyes. He gets control of himself just as he’s reaching for the handle. “Thank you for--”

It’s not dinner at the door. It’s Kuroo.

“Kuroo-san,” Akaashi says.

“Kuroo?” Bokuto echoes from behind him.

“Hey, Akaashi-kun,” Kuroo says, waving awkwardly. “Good to see you again.”

“Please tell me you’re not here to kick his ass,” Akaashi says, narrowing his eyes.

Kuroo huffs a laugh. “I’m not here to kick his ass. I just want to talk.”

Akaashi nods. He glances back and Bokuto and sees he’s scuffing his toes on the floor, avoiding eye contact with Kuroo. 

“Bokuto-san, I’ll keep dinner warm,” he says. “Come knock on my door when you’re ready for it.” He turns his attention back to Kuroo and turns his voice down. “Is your Daichi alright?”

Kuroo nods. “He’s gonna be fine. Wanted to tell Bo, too.”

“He’s been beating himself up something fierce. I had to let myself in the back door.”

Kuroo smirks. “At least you finally came over.”

Akaashi glares at him. “Don’t be angry with him. From what he told me, it didn’t sound like it was his fault.”

“It wasn’t,” Kuroo says quickly. “I was angry, but I’m not now.”

Akaashi watches him another moment until he’s satisfied. “I’m right next door,” he says, raising his voice to remind Bokuto, as well, and Kuroo smirks at him again.

“Thanks for the warning.”

Akaashi lets Kuroo in and closes the door behind himself. He sits in the hallway to wait for their dinner to arrive, and a wave of exhaustion comes over him.

He’s definitely got a crush on this neighbor he’s only met once--twice, really. And he has no idea what to do about it.


	8. A Little Bit Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are friends!
> 
> Songs for this chapter are:
> 
> Lonely Vampire by Weathers  
> Stranger Ways by Anberlin

Kuroo and Akaashi are speaking in hushed tones, which Bokuto can’t hear over the roaring in his ears. He’d just felt calmed, but the sight of Kuroo, his eyes red and pillowed over dark circles, have sent his mind into absolute panic again. Why is he here? Why would he just show up like this? Shouldn’t he be at the hospital, caring for Daichi and wishing destruction upon the man who had endangered him? 

The door clicks shut as Akaashi leaves and Kuroo passes him a weary look that conveys nothing through the fog of anxiety. Bokuto is sure that his heart is ready to leap out of his mouth the moment he opens it and he feels dizzy from the stress. Kuroo crosses the room to him and he flinches, expecting a shout or a strike, honestly almost anything other than the arms that wrap around his shoulders and pull him into a tight hug. 

Just like that, everything snaps, and with a desperate sob he grasps Kuroo tight around his thin middle, fists bunching in his shirt while he’s wracked by the terrible weeping that pulls him under once again. 

“Kuroo, I’m sorry…” he manages to force out between harsh and waterlogged breaths. His friend simply rubs his back, shushing him soothingly.

“It’s okay. Daichi is okay, he woke up an hour or so ago. He told me what happened, Bo. It’s not your fault, no one is angry with you.” Kuroo has that calming tone he’s heard so many times but it just makes Bokuto feel all the more guilty. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was just really afraid for Daichi.” 

There is a bitterness, something that claws at Bokuto and screams that he should be more important. After all, he and Kuroo had been friends for years, and his relationship with Daichi wasn’t that old. But logically, he knew this was how the world worked. Loving someone romantically meant making them your family in a way that friends weren’t, in most cases. It makes him jealous, but he and Kuroo had never been more than this, nor did either of them ever want to be. He just can’t help but feel like he is losing something precious. 

“It was my fault. I took my mask off. We practice and practice, over and over again, but when my head is in the magic, I just...lose track of everything. That boy…” Another sob breaks through and Kuroo squeezes his shoulders. 

“Bokuto, we have a hellishly dangerous job. No one has total control when the fire is all around them. You being there gave that boy a better shot than he would have had without you. But you know it’s never 100%. Not for them and not for us either. Listen, come to the hospital tomorrow. Daichi wants to see you and it will be good for you to see that he’s okay. I gotta go back tonight, but promise you’ll come tomorrow?” 

Kuroo takes Bokuto’s hands and frowns down at the suppressant on his wrist, already an angry red around the patch. Kuroo knows what it’s like for him to wear it for any extent of time, like poison ivy taped to his skin. Still, Bokuto nods, ignoring it. There’s too much static in his mind to notice the burning itch.

“I see you met the hot neighbor. Congrats. He seems pretty fond of you already, contrary to your assumptions.” This makes Bokuto smile. He feels a little nervous to go over to Akaashi’s place, so much time spent building him up as a person who despised him. But, he’d helped so much.

“Yeah. He actually...kinda broke into my apartment. It was really awesome. He’s the one who left the notes too.”

“Well, that’s great! Listen, I gotta head back to the hospital. But you’re gonna tell Daichi and me all about it tomorrow, okay. Sounds like a good story. I hope the rest of your night just improves it.” Kuroo winks salaciously and Bokuto pushes at him a bit, shaking his head. They walk out into the hallway and he waves at Kuroo as he descends the long stairwell, a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. He feels exhausted, but he wants to round things out with his hero of the evening. So he knocks on the door and within moments it opens. 

He’d been too upset to really take stock of Akaashi before, too desperate for another soul to cling to. Now though, as he takes in the room along with the slim figure of the man before him, Bokuto feels nervous. Akaashi’s living room gives off the same vibe that he does, cool, serene, and there’s a scent like spring rain in a forest that has him breathing deep to take it all in. The layout, of course, is just like Bokuto’s but mirrored, however, the feel of the place is so different, he feels like it’s another world. 

Akaashi settles gracefully on a small, low-backed couch which looks like it’s brand new. He picks up a take-out container and shakes it a bit at Bokuto, so he goes, sitting next to him and absentmindedly scratching at the suppressant. The bookshelves that line the wall are packed full of neatly arranged volumes and he’s nervous about spilling food on the spotless surfaces. There’s no TV, so he turns toward the mysterious man, trying not to stare too long at his flawless face. Instead he watches his long and slender fingers maneuver his chopsticks. He’s so...ethereal.

“Are you feeling better now, Bokuto-san?” Bokuto whips his head back to his own food in response, feeling his face redden. Akaashi’s eyes are a deep sapphire that could cut glass, he is sure of it. 

“Y-yeah. I mean, not that you didn’t make me feel better. Because you did. Thanks for that, it helped a lot. But knowing that Daichi is going to be okay and that Kuroo doesn’t hate me...well, that helps even more.”

“Good. As I said, your job is dangerous. I’m sure you have saved countless lives...oh…” his tone sounds a bit surprised and as Bokuto looks up at him, he sees his eyes have fallen on the red patch of skin at his wrist. It’s starting to blister a bit, closest to the center pad, and he hides it behind his leg.

“Don’t worry about that! It’s fine! Um, I noticed you have a lot of plants on the balcony. That’s...neat.” He is floundering, suddenly unable to come up with anything to talk about, feeling like the epitome of lame. Akaashi regards him through a placid expression and he wants so desperately to know what he’s thinking, but he just fidgets, uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to stay and eat with me, if you don’t wish to.” Akaashi’s tone never shifts, it’s as light and unimposing as ever and that makes Bokuto feel oddly safe. Loud emotions are frightening, but Akaashi is like cool water. 

“No, I want to. I’m just...also not great at talking to people. Sorry. You’ve been so kind to me, even after I stopped singing your requests. I liked them, even though they were usually sad songs. Did you like the other ones? The ones I picked?” He feels suddenly desperate for Akaashi’s praise in this, and he doesn’t know why. Akaashi has already given him so many compliments, but he knows his voice is pleasant to hear. That is something he has no choice in, it’s a part of him as much as his blood and his eye color. The songs, though, he chooses those. They are more an extension of him than any physical trait.

“Yes. Very much so. I have missed them most of all.” It lands so heavily that Bokuto’s eyes prickle again and he bites his bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. They finish their meal in silence, but it’s strangely comfortable in a way that Bokuto has never felt about silence with another person before. When he finishes he’s so tired his eyelids are drooping. He’s glad his apartment is only steps away, because even that feels like an arduous journey. 

“Bokuto-san, you look exhausted. Let’s get you home.” He extends his hand for the second time that evening and Bokuto takes it without a thought. His skin is cool, pleasant, and while he is thin, he must be strong, as he counterbalances Bokuto’s weight well. 

“Thank you so much. I can’t...begin to tell you...Will you leave me your number? I don’t want to bother you by just coming to your door, but I want to pay you back for all your kindness.” Akaashi stills for a moment at his words, deep blue eyes mapping his face as if he were measuring something unseen about Bokuto. Then he turns and puts a pen to a little sticky note pad, that lovely script rolling out from his pen as gracefully as he seemed to do everything. He pulls the note off and folds it, handing it to Bokuto.

“Goodnight, Bokuto-san. I hope to hear you sing again soon.” The door shuts lightly and Bokuto opens the note. On it is a phone number. Beneath it, a song title.

***

It starts with Bokuto showing up with pizza two nights later. He really had meant to text Akaashi, but before he knew it, the pizza had arrived and it was so easy to just knock on his door, so he did. Still dressed in a soft and rumpled t-shirt and pajama pants, a bleary eyed Akaashi had answered the door, and to Bokuto’s supreme delight, a soft smile had spread across his lips. 

He starts singing again, and Akaashi’s little sticky notes greet him many days when he gets back from work. They begin to text back and forth, and a once a week meetup becomes twice a week, sometimes three. He even hangs out during Kuroo’s visits a couple times, despite his best friend’s suggestive looks and lecherous comments when Akaashi isn’t in earshot. 

There is something so unique about him. He quiets the storm that always feels like it’s raging in Bokuto’s chest, and yet, there is little calm when Bokuto is near him. Being around Akaashi makes him feel nervous and raw, afraid to say the wrong thing and yet so often unable to stop his words from rushing out in hurried gasps. Being around Akaashi just makes him want to be around him more. 

Time slips away beneath their conversations; what feels like an hour is somehow three. Akaashi is easy to talk to, and when he speaks, he sounds like a gentle philosopher. He is so knowledgeable, but he never makes Bokuto feel stupid, merely seems to portray a quiet delight to share with him the things he knows. 

But he never speaks about his own magic. It’s nimble, how he manages to dodge any reference to himself when they speak of magic. Yet the suppressant at his wrist is plain as day. Only once has Bokuto outright asked him about it, and he had become sharp, defensive, and left no room for doubt that he did not wish to discuss it. Bokuto stung from the impact of his words, and despite his itching curiosity, has never brought it up again.

It’s been almost three months since the very bad night when Akaashi finally brings up anything about magic directly. They are sitting on his very nice, very uncomfortable couch, which has seen significantly more use since Bokuto started coming over, and his eyes have strayed, like so many other times, to the suppressant on Bokuto’s wrist. It’s been about three hours and he keeps itching it and chewing at his lips and thumbnails to keep from thinking about it. It’s easier with Akaashi than at any other time, but after this long, it really starts to get to him. Usually this is the point where Akaashi tells him he should head back. He’s always looking at it, like it’s a timer on how long they can spend together, and Bokuto hates that.

“Bokuto-san, I can tell you have an allergy to the suppressant. You don’t have to wear it all the time when it’s just the two of us.” Bokuto thinks about it. He’s not good at controlling the impulse to sing or hum around Akaashi, because he knows he likes it. At first, he was just afraid, like always, of manipulating someone else’s emotions in any way. But now, there’s something else. 

He doesn’t really know how he feels about Akaashi, but he is pretty sure of one thing. It’s too much. His feelings are too loud and bold, far more than they should be. No one should want to spend all their time with a person they’ve only recently met. Yet Bokuto has to control himself, count how many text messages he sends, keep track of how many days per week he is asking Akaashi to hang out, policing his words so that he isn’t too honest about how much he adores the time they spend together. 

Because if Akaashi knew that, then he would probably pull away. The thought of that makes Bokuto feel nauseous. His unbound voice could so easily give him away, a single note slamming home all his hidden feelings, baring him before this person who could so easily hurt him. He couldn’t risk that. That awful suppressant was the only thing that kept him protected from the exposure of this confusing and perhaps shameful truth. 

“That’s nice of you to say, Akaashi, but I do. My magic is dangerous. Without it, if I so much as hum, it could really affect you. I don’t want to do that to you.” Akaashi considers his words for a moment, and then nods somewhat sadly.

“I hate that it causes you such discomfort. I know there is no cure for it, but will you let me help relieve some of the symptoms, at least?” Bokuto stares at him, surprised at first, but remembers that he is a nurse. If anyone would know how to do such things, it would be him. So he nods and Akaashi walks to the bathroom, returning with a large first aid kit. He snaps it open and beckons for Bokuto’s hand, which seems to go to him almost of its own accord. 

“I have a cooling, antihistamine gel which should at least help with the inflammation around the patch.” Akaashi pulls on gloves, a pretty deep purple color, and the smell of latex fills the space between them. As Akaashi works, it affords Bokuto a rare opportunity to study him close up, unobserved. 

He knows that Akaashi is beautiful. He’s shared Kuroo’s speculation that his attractiveness may be related to whatever his magic is, it’s so profound. Usually Bokuto is too afraid to look at him for long, nervous of getting caught staring, nervous that Akaashi might see something in his eyes that gives him away. But Akaashi is far too beautiful and smart to ever be that kind of interested in Bokuto, so he doesn’t dwell on that possibility. But here, so close, looking at his dark, full eyelashes, his flawless skin, the dusky pink of his lips, the peek of his delicate collar bone from beneath his shirt...there’s a flutter which crescendos to a furious beating of wings in Bokuto’s chest. 

Akaashi looks up from where he is dabbing the cooling gel on the irritated skin of Bokuto’s wrist. The sapphire of his eyes seems to puncture Bokuto and he feels his face flush treacherously. 

“Am I hurting you?” Akaashi asks, and to Bokuto’s surprise, the first thought that enters his head is ‘ _yes, but not how you think_ ,’ and he clamps it down quickly.

“N-no, it feels better. Why?”

“Your pulse became faster.” Bokuto can see where Akaashi’s thumb rests against the web of veins in his wrist and internally curses. “You have to tell me if something hurts, so I can make it better.”  
Akaashi’s face shifts to a soft smile, which matches the sweet tone of his voice. While Bokuto knows that this is likely just his patient-facing facade, it ricochets through him like a bullet. He knows that he should smile, but a stark terror is forming that he’s close to exposing too much. So he does what he’s best at when faced with conversation that makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He pivots. 

“Akaashi, I know you don’t want to talk about your magic. That’s okay. But it’s a huge relief to me that you know about mine. So many people are scared of sirens, and honestly, they are right to be. And...and it means more than you can know that you would even offer to have me around without this thing to protect you. But I would never put you at risk like that. And maybe that’s why you don’t want to talk about yours, and believe me, I understand that. But, no matter what, I promise that I’ll do everything necessary to keep you from what I can do. I’ll never use my magic on you. You don’t ever have to worry about me changing your feelings. I’ll never let that happen, ever.” 

The words tumble out almost uncontrollably, and when he finally snaps his teeth together to stop before he reveals too much, Akaashi is frozen before him. His eyes are wide and lips parted, and there is a heartstopping, rosey flush to his pale cheeks that must surely be from embarrassment due to Bokuto’s word vomit. His delicate brows draw together in a look that could be concern, annoyance, even fear. Bokuto honestly can’t tell because his heart is beating too fast, and faces don’t really tell you as much as everyone says they should. 

The silence feels suffocating and finally Bokuto can’t take it anymore. He needs to get out of there, out from under the crushing weight of Akaashi’s gaze. He pulls his hand back and stands quickly and Akaashi almost startles from his sudden movement.

“Sorry, sorry, you know, I should probably go. I’ll text you later, okay.” He flees as fast as he can without actively running, not looking back. When he shuts his own door and locks it, he slaps himself in the forehead. What is he doing? 

He doesn’t text Akaashi later. But just before he goes to bed, his phone chimes with a text from Akaashi.

_I hope you’ll sing tomorrow morning._

***

Luckily, the awkwardness of that particular conversation dissipates quickly. Bokuto feels like he’s always thinking about Akaashi, and those thoughts are always wrapped up in music of some variety. Two more weeks have passed since his promise, with several more hangouts. Akaashi still hasn’t mentioned his own magic, but Bokuto feels like even if he never talked about it, that would be just fine.  
He’s wanted to do something nice for Akaashi for weeks now, but he’s never really had the patience to make things. He thought about recording all of the songs Akaashi had requested, but that led to the irrational fear that maybe he wouldn’t want Bokuto to sing for him anymore at all. So, against his better judgement, he’s standing in his kitchen over a bowl of ingredients which shouldn’t be as soupy as they are, spattered with chocolate and questioning his life decisions, right when there’s a knock on his door. 

He throws down the sticky spatula and rushes toward the door, flinging it open and already trying to formulate an excuse if it’s Akaashi, when he’s met with Kuroo’s face. 

“Oh god, please tell me that is food substance all over you…”

“What? Oh! Yeah, haha, it’s chocolate. I was trying to make no-bake cookies, but it’s not turning out very well. What’s up?” Kuroo cocks his head at the question, one eyebrow lifting.

“It’s Saturday. Wait, did you forget? You mean, those cookies aren’t for me?” Kuroo grabs his chest dramatically like he’s struck, but Bokuto is trying to handle the bewilderment at this situation. 

He had forgotten. Something that seemed completely unfathomable. The few hours a week he got to spend with Kuroo were the most precious thing in the world to him for so long. How could he forget? He’d been so preoccupied with making these cookies for Akaashi, it hadn’t even entered his mind. He must be wearing a stricken look, because Kuroo laughs loudly and snorts, patting him on the shoulder.

“Bro, it’s fine. You think any harder and you’re gonna burst a blood vessel. Let’s go see if we can salvage these cookies. You, uh, you making them for Akaashi-san?” Bokuto sighs at Kuroo’s sly look, knowing there’s no way around it. 

“Yeah, but it’s not like that, okay. He just...I just like giving him stuff.”

“Uh huh. Hmm, okay, I think if we add some more oats, these should be fine. Hey, you and Akaashi-san have been friends for a couple months now, yeah?” Kuroo asks him as he pours more of the oats into the batter, taking a swipe at the bowl’s edge to taste it. 

“Yeah. Feels like it’s been a lot longer, to be honest. He’s almost as good as you are at cheering me up.” Bokuto beams, thinking back to all the times he’s been talked down from an anxiety spiral with only a few cool words from his neighbor. 

“Yeah, I noticed you don’t text or call nearly as often. Which is fine! And it was fine before! You just...you seem a lot happier now. I’m glad.” As Kuroo is dropping big spoonfuls onto the wax paper on the cookie sheet, Bokuto realizes that he’s right. He doesn’t miss Kuroo all the time like he used to. He doesn’t feel so achingly lonely, even when he’s alone. He isn’t sure when exactly that change happened, but it’s true. He is happier. 

“I think you’re right, Kuroo. But, you are still my best friend! I don’t feel the same about Akaashi as I do you, and I’m not replacing you, so don’t worry! You’re still my number one, man.” Kuroo places the cookies in the fridge and turns, that half smirk pulled across his face that he always has when he’s having devious thoughts. Which is most of the time. 

“How do you feel about Akaashi, then? You’re always rebuffing my comments, but you’ve never actually told me. I want to hear it from you.”

“I dunno, I really like being around him. He’s easy to talk to, but he’s also easy to be quiet around, ya know? It’s so hard to explain.” He couldn’t even really work it out for himself, so trying to tell Kuroo and evade the ever present suggestions is proving impossible.

“All right, well, sing it to me then.” It has been a long time since Kuroo has coaxed him into singing about how he felt, rather than try to fit it into words too small to describe it. Music is already spinning inside of him, excited to come out and he grins at his closest friend. Kuroo knows him best. The perfect song is always on the tip of his tongue.

“ _Does anybody else here, feel like a freak?_ ” Kuroo raises his hand, already starting to jam with Bokuto’s song. Bokuto taps his fingers along the kitchen island. “ _A million side-eyes, following me_.” His feet are already moving, impossible to resist the urge to dance to the bop he’s become caught up in.

“ _Weaving in and out, don’t want their company. Too many people here, I don’t want to meet._ ” He taps out the percussion with his hands as Kuroo waits, his lazy grin the best of invitations. 

“ _Luh-luh-lonely vampire, and I can’t change. Talking to ya’s like a ray of sunshine, dancing in the fire! Hope it rains…_ ” And as he’s singing, he’s thinking about that, like being around Akaashi feels like being burned but in a way he’s totally addicted to. He’s just grinning through the flames and pretending everything is fine, in hopes the amazing man won’t realize. His hand finds his chest as his dancing slows and he looks at Kuroo with an almost fearful expression. Wait, what does that mean?

“ _I’m a vampire. So out of place, but I’m trying to be cool for one night, lonely vampire. Luh-luh-lonely vampire._ ” And Kuroo is looking at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the world and he hates that, double-hates it because Kuroo might be right. He stops singing and there’s a tense quiet that grows taut between them before Kuroo finally inhales and Bokuto readies himself for the blow.

“You have a crush on him.” 

“No-”

“Yes.” They point at each other for a moment while Bokuto tries to construct a defense, but his own panic is taking over. Instead he lets the finger drop and slaps a hand to his head.

“Oh fuck.” 

“Haha, oh my god, why are you panicking? He clearly likes hanging out with you too. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention-”

“No, no! Kuroo, shut up! Ah, this is so bad. Jeez, man, he’s so far out of my league I’d have to take a rocket ship to reach him! Oh no...why do I always have to ruin everything…” Bokuto sits down on the floor right where he was standing, running his hands up through his hair. Kuroo comes around the island and squats next to him, laying a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Dude, come on. You are not. You’re just a different kind of space league. But that doesn’t make it impossible. You’re capable of being smooth and there are ways to find out if he’s interested. Though, he’s pretty level-headed. You could probably just confess and he would be cool about it, regardless of his feelings.” 

“Or...maybe I’ll just live the rest of my life under a blanket and never speak to anyone else again? That sounds much easier.” Kuroo is laughing but Bokuto is only half joking. The idea of confessing to Akaashi makes him feel like he’s going to die. Like he’s just a dumb highschooler again, holding a box of chocolates that are half melted from his pocket to some person he doesn’t feel worthy to lick the shoes of. 

That night, after Kuroo leaves, he doesn’t text Akaashi like he’d planned to. He’s not even sure if he’s home or not. He needs to think about this. It’s obviously better for them both for him to keep it a secret, but now that he knows, it’s scratching against him almost as bad as that damn suppressant. Kuroo made such a joke of it but…

He finds it there, glowing in his chest like a living thing, an echo of his own heartbeat. It’s so precious, this feeling that is somehow both a terrible ache and a glistening joy. He thinks back to all those little moments where he and Akaashi touched, when Akaashi’s face had flushed a bit, when Akaashi laughed in that low murmur. How had it not been obvious at every turn? 

The truth is, from the very first note, Akaashi has made him feel like something special, something that mattered, and all he’s asked for in return for that grace is Bokuto’s time and the sound of his voice. Things that are merely a sip of the ocean of himself that Bokuto wants to give him. 

He looks up at the notes on the wall, and even though he’s too far away to make them out, he knows them by heart and reads each one in his mind. He has read over them a thousand times. They are the pieces of Akaashi he has been given. They are a gallery of his most precious possessions. 

“ _Locking eyes, the waning glance, mistook chance. Inviting meaning to the words forever…_ ” He stands and walks in a daze to his bedroom, stopping in the doorway to stare at the wall on the opposite side. The wall, a mere handful of inches of wood and plaster, the only thing that separates him from Akaashi’s bedroom. If they slept at the same time, rare though it was, they would almost be sleeping next to each other. The thought makes his heart clench.

“ _Broken silence, defiance, misspoke turn. Will I see you again if ever?_ ” He opens and closes his fists, trying to will his body to turn around, to not face this fantasy. It’s impossible. He does turn but his feet won’t move as more of the song pours out of him with the pain and the longing that has been stifled for so long.

“ _Come on and leave me here. I’m a vagabond though, wandering the night alone._ ” He turns his head to look back as the words are torn from him, feeling like he could tear down that wall with everything raging in him.

“ _Right now you’re over there, in a social club state, pondering the why, why are we alone?_ ”

He is pulled back toward the wall, even though Akaashi can’t be on the other side, but he still splays his hand against the cool surface, pretends he can see Akaashi there, relaxed with his book, his perfect features serene. Bokuto imagines him looking up, to the stars overhead, imagines he can taste the feelings that Akaashi holds so close to himself, and he closes his eyes.

“ _A little bit closer to finding the real you. A little bit closer to finding the truth. Stranger things have happened. Stronger men have answered. A little bit closer to loving you._ ” He falls back onto his bed, the full gravity of the situation hitting him full force. Akaashi is the greatest mystery he has ever seen and he wants to unravel him. He wants to read the poetry in Akaashi’s silence and see the art that blooms beneath the brush of his fingertips. 

“ _Yet defying, I’m lying, if I didn’t tell you, you keep me up late at night._ ” He feels his breath catch when he imagines the press of Akaashi lips, what it might feel like to pull him against Bokuto’s chest, to feel his hands in his hair. Bokuto’s own fingers brush against his lips at the thought and he’s lost to it.

“ _Is it alright if I call you lover? Even though we don’t know each other, and probably never will._ ” He places a hand against the wall again, looking at it as if it were glass and Akaashi was on the other side. Those sapphire eyes piercing him. His chest feels like it will burst as he spills his whole heart out to the empty wall before him.

“ _Will you stay with me? Here in my dreams? If I promised you this heaven? Would you take a chance, on a make believe dance? Close my eyes and we’re together…_ ” He imagines Akaashi reaching out and taking his hand and it’s like all the colors of the night brought to stark salience behind his eyelids. For the first time in a long time, he understands his own heart. He knows what he wants. Whether he can have it or not, at least he can see it now.

“ _A little bit closer to finding the real you. A little bit closer to finding the truth. Stranger things have happened. Stronger men have answered. A little bit closer to loving you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an fyi, we've caught up to the point we've written now, so it might take us a bit longer to get the remaining chapters out! Still, rest assured, we've got everything planned and are excited to write and share the rest of story! Thanks so much for reading, we appreciate you guys so much! <3


	9. Chapter Nine: Any Way to Your Wild Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is "Wild Heart" by Bleachers  
> I'm sorry for the wait, and also for this chapter..........

“What are you most afraid of, Akaashi?”

Akaashi looks up from the no-bake cookie he’d been chewing slowly. They’d been an unexpected treat from Bokuto, one that had him blush as he’d accepted the plastic container Bokuto shoved into his hands at the door. If Bokuto had seen the blush, he very gracefully hadn’t commented on it. Akaashi thought this was especially kind, considering it had sat on his face for at least a few minutes after Bokuto came through the door.

His crush on Bokuto has not disappeared as they’ve gotten to know each other. In fact, he’d say it’s probably gotten significantly bigger. There is something so wonderful about Bokuto, something that causes his heart to beat overtime and his normally well-organized mind to melt. The number of times he’s felt himself go speechless from something innocuous Bokuto has said is entirely too high to count. 

Like this, for example.

“I...what?” Akaashi asks.

“What’s your biggest fear?” Bokuto repeats. He’s got his head tilted curiously to one side. “Spiders, snakes, bats--”

“I don’t find any type of animal frightening,” Akaashi interrupts.

Bokuto grins. “Well, good. The next time I see a spider I know who to call.”

Akaashi smiles at him before turning his head away.

“So what is it then?” Bokuto persists. 

Akaashi isn’t eager to pursue this line of thinking. “What’s yours?” he asks, hoping to dissuade him.

Bokuto purses his lips. “Well, we covered spiders, I guess. Uh, maybe, dying alone?”

Akaashi raises his eyebrows. Bokuto’s looking up and away at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought. After a moment, he shakes his head. 

“No wait, I lied,” he says. He looks at Akaashi again. “But you gotta promise not to tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

“I promise,” Akaashi says warily.

Bokuto leans toward him. His brows knit together, and there’s seriousness written all over his face. “I’m terrified of ghosts.”

Akaashi blinks. Bokuto continues to stare at him. Akaashi blinks again. 

“You really are an enigma sometimes, Bokuto-san.”

There’s his signature beam. “Thank you!”

“What made you ask?” Akaashi prompts.

“Oh, uh.” Bokuto colors, looking back down at Akaashi and scratching the back of his neck. “I just wondered. I saw a list on the internet or something.”

Akaashi wonders what kind of list Bokuto might have been looking at, but he’s just as willing to let it go if he can get away without answering the question. “If you’re practicing dating technique, I would suggest starting with something a little more lighthearted.”

Bokuto goes bright red. “No! I wasn’t--I didn’t mean!” When he catches the laughter Akaashi’s hiding behind his hand, he grabs the ends of his hair. “Akaaaaashi!” he shrieks.

“Bokuto-san, you’ll disturb the neighbors,” Akaashi says past his laughter.

Bokuto’s bottom lip pouts out. Akaashi is filled with the intense urge to kiss it, and he has to look away. 

“I already know your favorite ice cream flavor, anyway,” Bokuto mumbles.

Akaashi narrows his eyes, unable to understand what that might have to do with Akaashi’s greatest fear. Unfortunately, he understands too well when Bokuto goes to scratch at his wrist. 

It means their time is coming to end.

“I’ll get you some aloe,” he says quietly, standing and heading for the bathroom.

It is the most difficult thing he’s had to deal with in his friendship with Bokuto, by far. Bokuto is so easy to be around. He has the uncanny ability to make Akaashi laugh, to make him smile, and their conversations are always so lively. He’s loud where Akaashi is quiet, brash where Akaashi is reserved. He’s slowly working on filling in all the gaps in Akaashi’s aching, lonely heart.

And they’re limited to only a few hours together at a time.

It stings worse than he thought it would, having to usher Bokuto out of his apartment when he takes notice of the rash beginning to bother him. Every time it happens, he considers asking again for Bokuto to stay, to just take the suppressant off. He’s talked himself out of it every time. If Bokuto felt the same way he did, surely he would be more likely to trust Akaashi? To let his guard down? Instead, he keeps it in place, and Akaashi follows suit. Looking at Bokuto’s wrist is a painful reminder of everything he can’t have.

He takes Bokuto’s hand carefully in his own. It’s the only contact they’ve had today. Akaashi has been sitting on the floor beside the coffee table instead of beside Bokuto on the couch. The smoothness of Bokuto’s skin takes Akaashi by surprise every time they touch. He thinks there should be calluses where there aren’t.

“You should let this rest for a day or two, if you can,” he murmurs, rubbing the aloe into Bokuto’s skin. “You’ve been exposing yourself to the allergen too much.”

“Sorry,” says Bokuto quietly.

“It’s hardly your fault you’re allergic,” Akaashi replies. He releases Bokuto’s hand. “I wish there was something more I could do.”

They look each other in the eyes for a long moment. Bokuto’s hand still rests on Akaashi’s thigh. Akaashi can feel the warmth of it all over. 

“I should go,” Bokuto says, stealing his hand away. 

Akaashi keeps his sigh to himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“You don’t work tomorrow night?” Bokuto clarifies, standing and heading for the door.

Akaashi shakes his head. “I’m off through Monday.”

“Okay if Kuroo and Daichi come over tomorrow, too?”

“Of course,” Akaashi replies. Kuroo is a bit of a pain in the ass, but he does have the antimagical field going for him. He extends their time together and cockblocks all at once. A true feat of magic.

“Cool. I’ll order pizza, then. Bye, ‘Kaashi!”

He’s halfway out when Akaashi calls out his name again. “Bokuto-san!”

“Yeah?” he questions, keeping his hand on the door handle.

Akaashi takes a deep breath. “Sing me something that makes you happy tomorrow,” he requests.

Bokuto smiles, more brilliantly than usual. He always does when he thinks about music. “I will. Bye, Akaashi.”

“Goodbye, Bokuto-san.”

***

Akaashi is just considering setting aside the manga he’s borrowed from Bokuto and going to bed when Bokuto’s voice comes through the walls. 

_ They closed the parkway late last night, and as I sat with the echoes of lies that I told I felt young, never changed by crooked hearts _

Akaashi marks his progress and sets the book aside. Bokuto sounds particularly joyful this morning. Akaashi can’t help but feel just as joyful listening to him. He wonders, not for the first time, what it might be like to be under Bokuto’s “thrall,” so to speak. Would it simply amplify his own feelings? Or would it change them entirely?

_ So put the shotgun back in the glove, come on and wait another year for dreams far away, to come home, to be brave _

But Bokuto had promised him he’d never know what that feeling is like. He rests his head against the back of the couch. He can’t help but picture a world where magic doesn’t stand between them, where Bokuto is free to be himself without anything to keep him quiet, where they can spend more than a few hours at a time together. Surely in that world, Akaashi would be braver. 

_ Well, everything has changed and now it's only you that matters _

Akaashi is torn between smiling and rolling his eyes at those words. The truth of the lyrics is...evident, to say the least. In a short amount of time, Bokuto has changed his life completely. He thinks back to a few months prior, when Ennoshita had accused him of being a hermit. Now he spends time with people every weekend, at the very least, and with Bokuto practically every day.

He’s hesitant to call it love just yet. But he’s in something, and he’s in it deep. 

_ I will find any way to your wild heart _

***

When Akaashi lays down to go to sleep later, his head is still filled with the echoes of the morning’s song. 

He dreams of fire. 

In one moment, he is reaching for Bokuto’s hand, and in the next, a flame flares up in the space between their bodies. Akaashi jumps back, but Bokuto doesn’t move. The fire dances wildly in the reflection of Bokuto’s eyes as he stares into Akaashi’s. 

“Come here,” he whispers, reaching across the flames. Akaashi shakes his head, his mouth dropping open in horror as Bokuto begins to walk toward him...

He wakes up gasping for air. He whips his head around wildly, expecting to see fire encroaching on his bed, but there is nothing out of the ordinary. 

It takes several minutes for his heart to return to its normal pace and for his hands to stop shaking where they grip the sheet. He has to repeat over and over that it was just a dream and he has nothing to worry about. He only even had the dream because of the conversation he’d had with Bokuto the night before. He talks himself out of going over and knocking on Bokuto’s door just to check on him and make sure nothing’s wrong when a thought occurs to him.

Suddenly, fear grips him like a vice. There was a reason he’d stayed away from people in the past. He is  _ dangerous _ , he reminds himself, touching his wrist where his suppressant would rest if he were wearing it. He is just as dangerous as the fire he so fears. He should step back...he should give Bokuto some space, maybe even let him go.

He picks up his phone, intent on saying something,  _ anything, _ when he sees he has a text. 

>> _ You, me, Kuroo, Daichi tonight!! Daichi’s bringing his famous taco meat so you gotta come try it!! _

Akaashi closes his eyes. 

One more day. Then he’ll figure out how to step back.

***

“They have the capacity and function of a fork, so they go with the forks!” Kuroo shouts, standing and throwing his arms in the air. “Akaashi, will you  _ please _ tell him?”

Akaashi’s lips turn up in the faintest hint of a smile. So far he’s stayed out of the argument; he and Daichi tend to get more enjoyment out of watching Kuroo and Bokuto get riled up over the small things than they do in actually participating in the debates. Akaashi, in particular, enjoys provoking Kuroo into a tizzy, which is why he crosses one leg over the other and leans back against the couch.

“Actually, as they’re shaped like spoons, I would argue they belong with spoons.”

Bokuto stands, gesturing wildly in Kuroo’s face while yelling that he’s right; Kuroo grabs the ends of his hair in frustration, and Daichi bursts into loud, raucous laughter. Akaashi’s heart warms at the sight.

Kuroo drags Bokuto over to the kitchen to examine the drawer, and Daichi turns to Akaashi.

“I’m glad you’re less intimidated by these conversations than you used to be,” he says, smiling. His skin takes on the grayish tint it assumes when Kuroo’s just out of his reach. “That first week I thought we might have to perform CPR on you.”

“I suppose one does have an advantage if one faints around three firefighters,” Akaashi replies, doing his best to suppress a yawn. “I learned quickly that the key is to disagree with Kuroo-san at all times.”

Daichi grins. “I find that’s generally not the rule.”

“That’s why I could never date him.”

“What about Bokuto, though?”

Akaashi looks down and away. “What about him?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Akaashi.”

Akaashi risks a glance at Daichi. He’s smiling, sort of, a little sadness and a lot of knowledge in his face. Akaashi quickly looks away.

“If you’re implying that I should disagree with Bokuto on principle--”

“Not at all,” Daichi says, grace and grounding in his tone. He’s always good at smoothing over trouble. Akaashi suspects he’s an oldest sibling. “I’m asking if maybe your feelings for Bokuto are different than they are for me or Tetsu.”

Akaashi finds a spot in the carpet that appears slightly darker in color and fixates on it. “I knew Bokuto-san before I knew you or Kuroo-san.”

Daichi sighs quietly. “Akaashi. You don’t have to say it out loud, but I know how you feel. And if it makes you feel any better, Tetsu and I think Bokuto feels the same way. If you ever decide to do anything about how you’re feeling, just know you have our support, okay? We were worried when he moved out on his own, but you make him really happy.”

Akaashi lifts his chin and fights back another yawn. Daichi is taking the last sip of his beer. He sets the empty glass down on the table.

“No pressure,” he says, smiling again. “But think about it, at least.”

“Right,” Akaashi says.

Daichi stands and stretches. His shirt lifts up to reveal a patch of stone on his stomach. He scratches at it absentmindedly as he says to Kuroo, “Come on, love, let’s leave Bokuto and the silverware alone.”

“But he needs to put the sporks in the right place!” Kuroo argues.

Bokuto picks up the lone plastic spork in his drawer and sets it on top of the pile of knives. “How’s that?”

Kuroo squawks, and Akaashi swears the hairs on his head stick up like in an old cartoon. “I can’t believe you’re my best friend,” says Kuroo, shaking his head. “I’m leaving and I’m never coming back.”

“Noooo~!”

Bokuto hugs Kuroo around his middle as he and Daichi head to the door. Akaashi watches as the couple both give Bokuto a warm hug and say their goodbyes.

A blessing from Bokuto’s two best friends seems like a gift, but Akaashi knows better than to look in its mouth, especially after his recent dream. Bokuto’s face visibly falls as he shuts the door behind them and reaches for his suppressant.

“I can go too, if you want,” Akaashi says, but Bokuto freezes halfway through slipping it on his wrist.

“Stay,” he says firmly. “At least for a bit longer.”

Akaashi has to look away, torn between smiling and crying. “If you insist.”

Bokuto pushes the suppressant firmly onto his arm and crosses over to the couch. “Let’s watch a movie,” he decides. “It bothers me less when I have a distraction.”

“Alright,” Akaashi says, yawning. “As long as you pick. I’m too tired to make any more decisions.”

Bokuto smiles. “ _ Ponyo _ ?”

“ _ Ponyo _ ,” agrees Akaashi.

He’s asleep thirty minutes into the movie, his head resting on Bokuto’s shoulder.

***

Akaashi dreams of heat burning his skin.

When he turns around, there are flames surrounding him from behind. The only way to move is forward, but there’s nowhere to go; the flames are in front of him now, too. He spots an opening, a tiny space where fire has yet to take hold, and he knows he has to run, but no matter how fast he runs, the opening doesn’t get any closer. He runs and runs, but he can’t close the distance; the fire gets bigger, and hotter, and this is surely how everything ends...

“Akaashi!” Bokuto shouts.

Akaashi’s eyes open. Bokuto’s face is only a few centimeters from his own, and he starts, sitting up abruptly. His heart is racing; his lungs still burn with the exertion of running in what was evidently a dream.

“You were screaming,” Bokuto says, sitting back. He wears a frown deep set into his features. “Are you alright?”

Akaashi nods quickly. “Just a nightmare.”

Bokuto doesn’t seem satisfied. It’s then that Akaashi realizes Bokuto’s in just a pair of boxers, no shirt. A blush steadily rises up into his cheeks.

“I apologize for waking you,” he adds.

Bokuto waves it off and stands back up. “I was up fixing breakfast.”

A grin comes to Akaashi’s lips against his will. “You aren’t worried about splatter?”

Bokuto tilts his head to one side. “Huh?”

“Nevermind,” Akaashi says quickly, turning his face to hide his growing smile. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“It’s breakfast for two,” Bokuto says.

When Akaashi looks back at him, Bokuto is looking pointedly at the ceiling. 

“But I can be really hungry sometimes. So. If you don’t want to stay, you know, that’s fine.”

“I’ll stay,” Akaashi says. 

Bokuto’s answering smile lights up the entire room.

***

“You look exhausted.”

Akaashi looks up from the coffee he’s clinging to like a lifeline. Ennoshita wears concern all over his face, which worries Akaashi; Ennoshita doesn’t usually bear his emotions so openly.

“More problems with the neighbor?” he asks, sitting beside Akaashi.

Akaashi shakes his head. “Everything’s great with him. I’ve been having nightmares.”

The fire dreams have only continued. He feels warm all the time, like the fire is seeping over into his real life from his dreams. Even the ice in his coffee feels like it’s melting in his grasp.

“You tried a sleep aid?” Ennoshita asks. “I had to take melatonin for a while after I switched to night shift.”

“No,” Akaashi says quickly. “That’ll just make it harder to wake up.”

Ennoshita frowns. “What are you dreaming about?”

Akaashi studies the condensation that’s dripping down the side of his cup. Two droplets race each other to the place where his hand is coiled around the mug. When the first one touches his skin, he sighs.

“Are you going to psychoanalyze me?” he asks.

Ennoshita shrugs. “Probably.”

“Then I’ll save you the time,” Akaashi answers. “I’m scared, and it’s manifesting itself in my dreams.”

“Scared of what?”

“Hurting him. Getting hurt by him.”

“The neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Possible you’re just scared of being vulnerable?”

Akaashi takes his hand away from the cup and wipes his palm on his scrub bottoms. “That’s been my fear all along, Ennoshita-san. You told me that months ago.”

“Which is why I’m reminding you that there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Ennoshita says. “You have to open up sometime.”

“Not if it means I’m responsible for hurting him,” Akaashi insists. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “You don’t understand.”

Ennoshita studies him for a moment. His eyes go to the suppressant on Akaashi’s wrist. “You know, years of knowing you and I have no idea what kind of magic you have. You’ve never mentioned it.”

“I’m aware,” Akaashi says. 

“Whatever it is must be bad,” Ennoshita reasons. “Or you think it’s bad. And yet, despite whatever it is that you think holds you back, you’re the best damn nurse on this entire floor.”

Akaashi, for once, is rendered speechless. 

“You know every patient by name, whether they spend five minutes here before being admitted or five hours. You’re thorough, kind, and honest. You’re a good man, Akaashi-kun. I doubt you’ll hurt your neighbor friend, but if you do...Well. You’ve got the medical background to fix him up again.”

Akaashi stares at Ennoshita. Ennoshita recoils at his gaze.

“Alright, that was enough genuine talk from me. I’m off to find someone who can endure my sarcasm. Try not to fall asleep, Akaashi-kun.”

“Thank you,” Akaashi says quietly. Ennoshita gives him two finger guns before walking off.

Akaashi puts his head in his hands. There’s so much noise in his head, so much fear, and he’s so tired of it all. 

Ennoshita’s been nothing but right so far. Maybe Akaashi should trust him--and himself. Maybe tomorrow will be the day Akaashi finally finds it in himself to tell Bokuto how he really feels.

Or maybe there will be a car crash that ushers several victims into the ER and Akaashi won’t have a chance to think any more about his feelings. He promises himself he’ll make a decision tomorrow before he rushes into action.

***

Akaashi dreams of flames.

They lick at his heels as he runs and runs and runs. When he tries to hide, they encroach around him. When he tries to fight them, they blow ever higher in the face of the extinguisher he wields. Nothing he does can stop them; nothing he does can pause or reverse their growth. He screams and screams but no sound escapes from his lips, and then the fire takes on a shape, a shape too familiar. Akaashi reaches out and feels the heat against the palm of his hand. With a voice he would know anywhere, the fire asks a question.

_ “What are you most afraid of, Akaashi?” _

When Akaashi wakes, gasping, it’s to an apartment filled with smoke and the acrid smell of burning. The alarm begins to blare just as Akaashi takes in the sight of his apartment through the thick clouds and the weight that seems to be holding him down.

In his sleep, vines have grown from him. They creep from his body to the walls, running along the outer perimeter. Akaashi can see where the vines are racing along, trying to encase the entire apartment. The glass door leading to the balcony has completely disappeared under a sea of green. Desperately, he runs to the door, the only place where there’s a gap in the vines. When he opens it, he’s met with a face full of smoke, so thick he can’t see past it at all. Beneath the sound of the alarm, he can hear the flames crackling, loud and threatening. A flash of orange illuminates his vision, closer than he’d anticipated, and he throws his door shut.

He leans up against the door, his chest heaving, and vines grow to encase the door frame without his conscious effort. Tears sting at his eyelids, although whether from fear or the smoke still tinging his vision he isn’t sure. Careful not to trip over any of the plants he’s created, he makes his way to the wall he shares with Bokuto and places his hand against it. 

“Please be safe,” he whispers.

Then he sinks to his knees and hopes against hope he’s enough to save himself. 


	10. Your Shooting Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, this chapter is super long! This chapter leans in to some of our scarier tags (as I'm sure you guessed, considering how last chapter ended), so just a heads up on that front! 
> 
> Songs for this chapter are:  
> Kiss The Girl from Disney's The Little Mermaid  
> maybe, i'm afraid by lovelytheband  
> SOS by Elizaveta

A thin whine escapes Bokuto for probably the twelfth time since he arrived at Kuroo and Daichi’s apartment and flopped unceremoniously onto their couch. Kuroo had repeated his name several times to no avail, and was now standing over him, hands on his hips, waiting. As the whine peters out, the rest of the air in Bo’s lungs is crushed from him as Kuroo sits on his chest. He bats at him and pouts, but Kuroo just gives him an expectant look.

“Use your words.” 

“I finally get why they call it a crush. It’s because it makes you feel like you’re being constantly squeezed and are suffocating. It’s torture!” Bokuto wails, and Kuroo just rolls his eyes.

“You idiot, he literally has to like you back. It’s so obvious, I’m ready to shove the two of you in a closet until you figure it out. Just tell him!”

“Kuroo, I’ve almost kissed him like, nine hundred times!” Bokuto screeches and Kuroo throws up his hands in exasperation.

“Why didn’t you actually do it one of those times?!”

That horrible crushing dread washes over him and he almost shivers from it. All the terrible possibilities smash against him. Akaashi pulling back with a look of disgust, Akaashi laughing at him, Akaashi saying he doesn’t want to hang out with him anymore…

“Nope, no way. Too risky. I might actually die if he…” he chomps at his bottom lip, looking away from Kuroo’s stupid smirk.

“Aww, you have to be brave, my little merhunk.” Kuroo squishes his cheeks, making Bokuto scowl and pout. Kuroo just laughs, puckering his lips and making little kissy noises. “ _Sha-lalalalala, don’t be scared! You better be prepared! Go on and kiss the girl!_ ”

“You are not seriously singing The Little Mermaid to me right now. You know I’m sensitive about that movie,” Bokuto grumps at Kuroo, but he’s losing his battle to stay serious as Kuroo croons at him.

“ _Sha-lalalalala, don’t stop now! Don’t try to hide it, how you wanna kiss the girl! Go on and kiss the girl…_ ” Bokuto finally breaks as Kuroo shimmies his shoulders, laughing and shoving his best friend off of him and the couch.

“Yeah well! You find me a sea witch to take my voice away and then I’ll consider it! I feel like I barely know anything about him, Kuroo. I found a list online of stuff you should ask your crush to learn more about them, and he just dodges all the questions! I don’t really think...I don’t think he trusts me.” Could Bokuto really blame him? They hadn’t really known each other that long. He was so effortlessly evasive that Bokuto never even realized that he hadn’t answered questions until hours later. He was so graceful and complex. The complete opposite of Bokuto. 

“Bro, didn’t he fall asleep literally on you last weekend?” Kuroo stands and dusts his knees off, pinning Bo with that look. The look he always gave him when he thought Bokuto was being purposely dense. “Hard to get more vulnerable than that.”

Yeah...that had been a thing. A thing that made Bokuto nearly explode in panic. When Akaashi’s head had fallen onto his shoulder, he had nearly squeaked in surprise and delight, every nerve lighting up with a shrill cry of _MAYDAY MAYDAY, BOYFRIEND LEVEL CONTACT INITIATED_. But as he had shifted, heart in his throat, in hopes of sliding his arm around Akaashi or maybe even initiating that kiss he’d so been longing for, he’d noticed Akaashi’s eyes were shut and his breathing was perfectly even. 

Which of course had set off a whole new kind of panic. What do you do when your crush falls asleep on you? You shouldn’t touch them except to place them in a more comfortable position, which is precisely what he did, scooting out from under Akaashi to lean him down onto the couch, a pillow under his head. He must have been exhausted, as he didn’t so much as stir from Bokuto's handling. Bokuto had pulled a blanket over him, trying his best to be quiet. 

Somehow, his face was even more beautiful when he was sleeping. All that worry and stress softening to a peaceful expression that had Bokuto’s heart hammering against his ribs. All Bokuto wanted was to let him sleep there, just knowing he was in the next room and not the next apartment was enough to make him buzz with an unidentified feeling.

But if he took off the suppressant...the suppressant which was already starting to itch, even though it hadn’t even been an hour. If he left it on all night…

He had decided to just go to bed. If he was sleeping, then he wasn’t singing and Akaashi was safe. But he was so nervous that he tossed and turned the whole night. He’d finally gotten up with the sun and was in the process of making them both breakfast as quietly as he could manage, when Akaashi had gasped loudly. And then whimpered. And then screamed. 

Bokuto had been able to wake him by calling out his name, bent close to his face, though he was afraid to touch him as sweat broke out on his pale brow. Akaashi's eyes had opened filled with fear. A nightmare. A nightmare bad enough that it had made him scream, and he wouldn't talk about it all. Yes, he had stayed, even eaten with Bokuto, but the shadow of his dream had hung over both of them. Even now Bokuto wondered if it had been about him. Had he dreamed that Bokuto had hurt him? Had subjugated his emotions? Is that why he wouldn’t tell him what had caused that awful sound to tear out of him?

“That’s not trust, Kuroo! He works night shifts, he’s stressed all the time, and he’d been up all day to hang out with us! He was just really tired, so that doesn’t count. I just...I just wish I could tell what he was thinking. Just a little bit. Just once.” Kuroo ruffles his hair, his features falling into an empathetic look. 

“Bokuto, babe, he hangs out with you like, every other day. He looks at you like you hung the damn stars.”

“You lived with me. What’s your point?” 

“Yeah, but like, the first time we met I sat on your lap and farted on you on purpose and then you shoved my face in your armpit.”

“Oh, sharing courting rituals now?” Daichi chuckles as he wanders into the room and Bokuto sees Kuroo blush slightly as he snorts. It’s enough to make the grin break out on Bokuto’s face too, and he laughs with them. 

“I mean, sort of,” Kuroo responds, “he’s trying to convince me that Akaashi wants nothing more than to be his friend. Will you tell him how ludicrous that is?” Daichi swivels, shaking his head and points at Bokuto.

“I’m pretty sure he would still be interested even if you farted on him and shoved his face in your armpit. But like, don’t test that theory. Just kiss him.” Kuroo is nearly howling as Daichi berates him, and as always, they all end up in a stomach-clenching fit of laughter. 

“Fine! FINE! I’ll think about it! BUT IT’S THE MOST SCARY THING I CAN IMAGINE SO I CAN’T GUARANTEE ANYTHING OKAY!” Bokuto yells at them, throwing his hands into the air. 

“I mean, it’s that or I try singing the mermaid song to Akaashi instead next time we hang out, and I’m not sure any of us could handle that,” Kuroo teases as he feins a stricken look. 

“I will shriek until you are all deaf. I can do that.” 

“Well then, you better pucker up princess, because that poor guy is suffering as bad as you are. Please, for the love of the gods, put him out of his damn misery. And yourself.” 

“And us,” Daichi quips and Bokuto gasps in pretend shock, collapsing back onto the couch, hand clutched to his chest. But while it is just an act, fear definitely flowers bright within him. Can he really do it? Would he dare to take such a step? He will have to let it flutter around his head for some time before the idea doesn’t feel like running head first into fire. But, that is his expertise, after all. 

***

He isn’t sure how long he’s been standing outside of Akaashi’s door, shifting weight from one foot to the other. He’s raised his hand to knock three times, but each time the quivering thing in his chest has crescendoed and he’s had to clear his throat. Part of him had hoped each time that the sound would draw Akaashi and that the door would just swing open and he would be forced to face this thing that has grown so unreasonably large that he can’t swallow around it anymore. But the door doesn’t open. 

As he raises a hand to knock again, he notices his wrist, bare and unguarded. Fuck. He’d been so nervous that he’d forgotten to put on the suppressor. He teeters on the edge of not caring, but logic and fear win out, sending him stomping back to his apartment. Even as the door shuts behind him, he feels the mingled relief and disappointment overtake him. 

He doesn’t have the words anyway. Just feelings, big, gargantuan, monster-sized feelings that feel like they are coming out of his pores. It’s debilitating. All he knows how to do with feelings is sing them, but how can he? How could he look Akaashi in the face and sing what he feels? But if he doesn’t, if he just sings it in his apartment, how will he know Akaashi hears it? How will he know if Akaashi understands or what his reaction is? 

Bokuto isn’t a coward. His job requires so much bravery. He gets down on himself and depressed and sometimes nervous, but he’s not a coward. 

Bokuto Koutarou has never been in love before. 

He can’t do it. He can’t keep holding this in or it is going to devour him. He feels his phone vibrate. It’s Akaashi. Of course.

_Dinner tonight? I bought beef yesterday and we could make it tonight with vegetables, if you like._

Bokuto’s eyes raise in the direction of Akaashi’s apartment. He is home, then. He feels pulled toward the bathroom, to the shower, the place where he has shared more with Akaashi than he ever has face to face. Here, alone, with the safety of the wall between them, it’s the sanctuary where he confesses the deepest secrets of both their hearts. He just has this one left to give. 

“ _Dancing in your party dress, you were singing me some Frank Sinatra as you wept._ ” He feels the fear well up, but it’s too late, it’s coming out and Akaashi will hear him, will know even though he can’t feel it. This is it. He’s giving up the fight that he can’t sustain anymore. The fear burns but the dam has broken.

“ _Pull me close enough, It seems like we lost touch so hold me, as the record skips._ ” He plants his hands against the wall, imagines Akaashi on the other side, waiting, wondering why he is singing and not answering his texts, wondering why Bokuto’s voice is so clear and desperate and true. 

“ _Maybe I’m just too good, maybe I’ll run away, maybe I’m over you, maybe I shouldn’t stay. Maybe I just don’t care, maybe I talk too much, but baby I’ll be there, yeah baby I’ll be there. It’s been a little hard, I’ve been a little tough, but maybe all along, I’m afraid, I’m afraid, I’m afraid. I’m afraid, I’m afraid, I’m afraid._ ” 

And it crashes out, all the insecurities, the anger at himself and at Akaashi and at their gods-damned circumstances, gushing out like he’s thrown up his very soul. Tears are pouring down his face and he’s so afraid. He’s so, so afraid. 

“ _Maybe all we are is fools with hearts that tried too hard. And maybe that’s just fine as long as you’re here in my arms…_ ” His forehead hits against the plastic shower wall and he lets out a sob, feeling choked by all the emotion that’s pounding through him. But he listens, listens for any sign of life, any small tell in how Akaashi is responding. Ear pressed against the shower wall, he waits, wet cheeks and racing heart, holding his breath. He thinks he hears something and is propelled from the wall, out of the bathroom and through his apartment to his door. He wipes a hand over his face quickly and throws it open to step out into the hallway, not knowing and needing something, anything.

Akaashi looks up at him, standing there with his keys in the deadbolt, a tired look on his face. He gives a soft smile.

“Oh, hey Bokuto-san. Did you get my text?” Bokuto blinks at him, confused.

“You...are you just getting home?”

“Yes, I had to run to the hospital for something. Is everything all right?” His perfect brows knit together in concern as he opens his door and sets a cloth bag inside. He peers at Bokuto, looking like he’s trying to decide whether or not to close the ten foot or so gap between them.

“Everything’s fine!” He says it too loud and Akaashi flinches. “I, uh, I’m not feeling well. Sorry. Rain check.” 

He closes the door, huddling against it with his hands still tight on the knob. He doesn’t know how to feel. He feels both empty and full, relieved and drowning. Everything is fine, everything is the same, but after all of that, everything is the _same_. And it hurts. 

He whimpers against the door. He feels like a coward. 

***

Kuroo seems to sense that he’s not in the mood to get ribbed when he shows up for work the next day. He chats idly with some of the guys as they go through the drills and prep and check for the equipment. Kuroo keeps meeting his eyes and raising his eyebrows in that ‘what’s up?’ expression that he ignores. He can’t tell him. He can’t take his chiding right now. 

Kuroo is just approaching him with a scrunched brow when the alarm sounds. The entire station wails to life and the crew rushes into action like a well oiled machine. The fires have been so common lately that they barely need the drills to keep them sharp. Bokuto dons his equipment quickly and efficiently, boarding one of the rapid response vehicles that will precede the fire trucks. Kuroo is already in the driver's seat, roaring the engine to life. As the GPS blinks on and the tracker lights up on the little map, Bokuto stares at it.

No, that can’t be right. 

Kuroo is staring too, both of them just rooted to the spot, eyes locked on the little map on the screen, until Daichi is yelling at them both to get in gear as the other rapid response cars take off. Kuroo meets his eyes, a flicker of fear behind their golden coronas. 

“What the hell are you doing? We gotta go, come on!” Daichi shouts, jostling Kuroo’s shoulder and he throws the SUV into gear, flying after the others. There’s a crackle from their radio and Fire Chief Ukai’s voice comes through.

“Bokuto-san, respond.” Bokuto grabs the mouthpiece and pulls it to him, his chest feeling tight as panic starts to flood him.

“Here,” he says, his voice a little shaky. Kuroo isn’t looking at him. Daichi swears from over his shoulder as he finally realizes what’s going on. 

“Bokuto, the fire is in your apartment building. It’s a 10-76, 2nd alarm at this point. We’ll be the second crew onsite and are to follow their lead. Are you good? I need to know you’re not gonna go rogue on me.”

“I’m good, I’m good.” He’s not good. All he can think as Kuroo takes a sharp turn and his stomach flips, is that it’s only 10 a.m. Akaashi would be fast asleep after his night shift. Surely he had gotten out okay. The building had an excellent alarm system, he’d made sure to check it out himself before signing the lease. 

“I want you out of there the second you’re not, you hear me? Kuroo, Sawamura, watch him.” And then the line goes quiet and all three of them are silent. He pulls a glove off and calls Akaashi and the other two don’t try to stop him. It rings. And it rings. 

There’s something icy and sharp that’s starting to work its way through Bokuto’s veins and tries to clamp it down as he hangs up the phone and shoves his glove back on. He watches as his building comes into view, black smoke billowing up out of it and flames darting from some of the second floor windows. He can’t think about what is probably lost. He can’t think about all of his belongings, because it won’t help. Still, he thinks of all the sticky notes and he feels an ache that’s new and horrible. He looks back down at the dark screen of his phone. 

Kuroo pulls them in with the other unit vehicles. Two hoses are already on the fire and Bokuto doesn’t realize that he’s just staring at the building until Daichi hauls him out of the passenger side door. They pull him over to where the other unit chief is talking to the apartment manager. Daichi places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him midstride, as Kuroo approaches the group and begins talking to them, flipping through a bunch of papers. Daichi is talking to him, but he can’t hear the words, he’s just staring at the papers and listening to the yells and the roar of the fire. All the firemen with Kuroo look up and over at him. 

Kuroo makes a terrible face, one of anger and frustration, and he shoves the papers back against the chest of the apartment manager as he crosses back to Bokuto and Daichi. His eyes are red and his face looks flushed. Bokuto feels his fingers twitch. He feels like he’s suffocating. 

“Bo, you need to get out of here. You can’t be here for this.” He picks up his radio and presses the button. “Chief, you need to relieve Bokuto, he can’t be here.” 

“What the fuck? Kuroo, what the fuck?! Where is Akaashi? Where is he?!” he’s yelling, screaming even as he rips the walkie out of Kuroo’s hand and grabs his coat. Daichi is pulling at him but he has that panic strength and it just gets worse when Kuroo’s eyes clamp shut, his teeth grit, and he grabs Bo back.

“Bokuto, listen to me,” but his voice is all wobbly and Bokuto can already feel the denial start to well up inside of him. “The rescue attempts are over. They aren’t sending anyone else in. Akaashi’s not accounted for but-”

“Shut up, Kuroo! He’s in there and we are going to get him!” He tries to break away and head toward the building, jamming on his helmet, but Kuroo and Daichi stop him, wrestling his arms into a tight hold.

“Bokuto! We can’t! He’s a D-NAR!” Bokuto is sure he will throw up, either that or simply sink into the ground. D-NAR, Do Not Attempt Rescue, classified magicals. The list was short for the fire department, but it was necessary. D-NAR magicals became more of a risk in fires and due to prior rescue attempts yielding heavy casualties, firefighters were restricted from attempting rescue. It was more dangerous, for everyone, to try to extract them. 

“No...NO!”

“He’s a hamadryad, Bokuto. We go in there and he will tear us apart. He’s also likely rooted, so even I won’t be able to help him. You can’t help him. I’m so sorry, Bo…” Kuroo was giving him that look of pity, that look that said he had already given up and Bokuto felt rage take the place of sorrow. 

“It’s Akaashi, Kuroo! You know him! He wouldn’t hurt us!”

“Bokuto,” Daichi’s gruff voice is almost yelling into his ear, “hamadryads are extra sensitive to fire! He won’t know us if we go in there! You know that! You’ve seen the records of the rescue attempts! You have to be rational about this!”

But rationale is not a thing that Bokuto is capable of when it comes to Akaashi. He had been a coward at every step. But here, now, this was his job, his area of expertise. He saves people. He saves them from fire. The only thing in his mind is a vision of Akaashi, alone and afraid, wondering if he will be rescued by the people he cares for. The people who fight the thing that scares him the most.   
The person he doesn't know loves him. 

A quick calculation of the two men holding him allows him to plan an exit strategy. Daichi is stronger than Kuroo, but lighter and smaller when he is within the antimagic radius, and Bokuto tenses his muscles. He is strong too. With one arm he lifts Daichi from the waist and slams him into Kuroo, sending them both tumbling away from him. He takes off like a shot toward the other company, pulling down his visor and situating his mask. He will be hard to discern among the other firefighters with all his gear in place. He’d noticed something, someone earlier who could help him. He is only one step ahead of his own feet in planning, but it is all he can do to keep from breaking down. 

He spots the black feathers amid the jostle of fire fighters, still slightly taller than most of the crew despite their owner’s short stature. He knows the guy from a few previous encounters, a tengu named Hinata, a lot like Bokuto in a lot of ways. Bokuto has never really thought about how to take advantage of that before. But he is now. 

He taps the winged man on the shoulder, ducking just in time to avoid getting hit with a wayward wing. Casting a look over his shoulder to make sure his pursuers won't see, he raises his visor and sees the spark of recognition in Hinata’s face. 

“Hey, Bokuto! What’s up? Glad you guys are here! This one is a real doozy!”

“Hinata, could you please help me with something important?” The newer recruit’s eyes go wide and he nods enthusiastically. Bokuto pulls him close so hopefully the others won’t hear him. It’s loud enough that it won’t be a concern, but the guilt is already needling at him. It doesn’t touch the power of his conviction though.

“This is actually...my apartment building. And I really want to get my hydrangea plant off my balcony because it was my mom’s and it’s the last thing I have of hers. I know it’s asking you to violate protocol but, could you just fly me up really quick to grab it? Please?” Hinata looks up toward the building and back to Bokuto.

“I could just go up and get it, just tell me which balcony.” 

“It’s on the other side of the building. Just take me up there, please. We have to hurry. I don’t want it to die.” He was pressing the advantage and he knew it. Hinata looks conflicted, his wings twitching with anxiety.

“You can’t go in, you know that right? A pressure change could cause an explosion. You have to promise you won’t try to go in.” 

It’s crazy how easy it happens, a terrible lie, a promise he knows he will break. He would have thought that it would be impossible for him to do this. But as he feels the opportunity to help Akaashi get one step closer, the lie falls from his lips without a single hitch.

“I promise. Let’s go.” They run toward the corner of the building, away from the others so Hinata will have the space for take off. He grips Bokuto under his armpits and his large wings begin to snap against the air. Bokuto is big but Hinata is strong, the best flyer in his class, maybe the city. As their feet leave the ground, Bokuto can feel the strain on the tengu, but he pushes him onward, directing him with a pointed finger until they finally approach his balcony. 

Akaashi’s balcony fills him with an odd combination of horror and relief. The glass has shattered on the sliding door and where the little forest of plants once lived peacefully has turned into a jungle of twisting vines. Thick and woody tendrils spill out from Akaashi’s apartment, filling the opening to dangle over the edge. They’ve started to encroach on Bokuto’s balcony as well. But they are moving, writhing almost, and that means just one thing. Akaashi is alive. 

His feet meet the metal railing and he rolls onto the little balcony. Hinata perches on the edge, looking at the vines with horror and urging him to hurry. 

Bokuto doesn’t even look at the big pot with the little purple flowers, clenched tightly in the grip of several vines. He knows how stupid this is as he slides the fire axe from its holster on his hip. He turns and pushes Hinata off the ledge, briefly wounded by the look of betrayal in his eyes as he tumbles backward off the balcony, his wings catching the wind a moment later, but far enough away that he won’t be caught in a blast. One mighty swing shatters the glass to Bokuto’s apartment and he grits, ready to be blown off the balcony.

But nothing happens. Just a billow of hot air and smoke come out. He feels the brush of Hinata’s fingers as he tries to grab him as he charges into the building. 

His heart is pounding with hope now, every nerve feeling alive. The smoke is thick but he knows the layout of his home and makes his way easily to the door. The smoke is dark by the door though, and he flips on a flashlight, shining it along the seam of the door. The smoke moves like a beast behind it is breathing, gasping for breath, a sure sign of backdraft waiting. He can’t go out the door. He can’t save Akaashi if he lets the fire take him. 

Instead he rushes to his bedroom. It’s far from any plumbing and the electrical should be minimal. He can’t test here, but it’s less risky with both balcony doors already open to the air. He heaves the fire axe and brings it down hard against the drywall. 

Time feels limitless as he works at the wall, his vision cloudy from the smoke and his breaths now ragged from the exertion. He can’t tell how long it takes to finally make a hole large enough to claw his way through but he finally tumbles into Akaashi’s bedroom, the rush of adrenaline masking any pain from tearing through it. The air is clearer and he dares to hope. He just has to find him.

Vines coil along the floor and walls and he must have cut through some of them just to enter, but the resulting pocket is peaceful, almost serene given their imminent danger. Amidst the writhing vines that he’s shoving out of the way and clamoring over, a pale hand comes into focus. 

“AKAASHI!!!” he shouts, pushing his way through the growth until more of his friend is visible. He is strangely cocooned by the vines, but looks unconscious, his clothes torn in several places as the vines seem to surround him. Bokuto reaches forward, touching Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi shivers. Bokuto stops. 

His eyes flutter open just a hair, but they glow a vibrant green. He doesn’t look at Bokuto. He looks at the ground. He looks like he has surrendered, his body limp and his face slack. Bokuto tries to get a grip around his middle but the vines are so tight against him.

“Akaashi, I’m gonna get you out of here. Don’t worry.” It’s as he’s trying to get a good hold that he realizes with a crushing dread that the vines aren’t simply surrounding him. They have burst through Akaashi's clothing, coming out of him, some almost as thick as his arms. They hold him firmly in place, even as Bokuto tugs at him. He still hasn’t looked at him. Akaashi coughs weakly.   
Maybe he just needs more air. Bokuto lifts his visor and unhooks his mask, pressing it to Akaashi’s nose and mouth. He can tell the air here is thin, the smell of char heavy, though not as heavy as the aromatic scent of greenery. It smells like a forest, like rain, and like Akaashi. 

Vines burst into movement around him, entangling his legs. Akaashi’s eyes have gone a darker shade of green as smaller tendrils wrap around the mask on his face and Bokuto has just enough time to pull his hand back before the plastic is ripped free and crumpled. It jerks the hose free as well and the tank hisses as the remaining oxygen escapes.

“Fuck.” A new kind of fear takes root. As vines tighten around his legs, he is inundated with the memories from his classes about D-NARs. He remembers the pictures of the mangled bodies, barely recognizable in the aftermath of a different hamadryad. He wants to touch Akaashi, to hold him, but after the reaction to the mask he is afraid. A grim realization sinks its teeth into him.

They are both going to die. If he can’t get Akaashi to respond and control his vines, they will both die here in this fire. No one else is coming for them. And the fire will break through one of their doors eventually, and be fed by the outside air, giving it the power to devour them as well. His heart sinks terribly, but he knows what he has to do. He hates it. It feels nothing like the other promise he broke. It feels like the vines have wrapped around his heart.

“Akaashi, I have to get us out of here. I’m so sorry, so so sorry. I have to break my promise. But if you live, it will be worth it, even if it means you’ll hate me forever. I’m sorry, I just, I can’t give up.” He reaches out and touches Akaashi’s face, gently, with just the back of his knuckles. A vine snaps around his wrist and pulls it closer, pulling all of him closer, so that his face is only inches from the man he loves. Akaashi’s eyes open a touch more and they seem to focus on him a moment, still glowing that lurid green.

“Help me,” Akaashi whispers, so close he can feel his breath and it sounds hollow and despondent. And the lion inside of Bokuto roars to life and he feels the music begin to move through him, even as his eyes blur from tears. 

“ _Hold on tight, don’t let go of me. Love is all there is, love is all we need._ ” The words are soft at first, coaxing, and within him he lets everything flow, all the longing and adoration he’s been stifling for months. He can almost feel it sink into Akaashi, watches the change in his face, sees his eyes widen and lock onto Bokuto. He needs Akaashi to believe that they can get out of here and that he can save him. That he has reason to save him. He needs him to feel it all. 

“ _Darling don’t be scared, I can feel your pain. Even heroes fall, even heroes fail._ ” And he feels those words like a knife in his gut, all the shame and anger that it had to come to this. That he couldn’t save him without destroying the trust they had built. But he also needs to understand that Bokuto will do whatever it takes, will sacrifice everything to get him out of here. He sees Akaashi’s eyes begin to clear, can start to see that blue in them again and it makes him smile, as tears begin to run down his cheeks.

“ _You’re always running, like the world is on fire. But can you see me coming when it’s down to the wire?_ ” Finally the green light fades entirely and it’s really Akaashi looking at him, looking between his eyes, teeth clenched together as he comes back fully. Akaashi’s muscles tighten as he flexes against the vines and he sees Bokuto, really sees him. And there is joy, and sorrow, and Bokuto can feel his heart breaking.

“ _I will be your shooting star, when you look up in the night. Burning through the atmosphere, brighter than the city lights…_ ” The vines around him are loosening and the ones around Akaashi are moving too, untangling from his limbs. Long cool fingers glide against Bokuto’s cheek and he wants to believe so badly that the look of devotion on Akaashi’s face is real. But it’s just a mirror, just the magic making him feel what Bokuto feels. And that fact tears him, rends him asunder, far more brutally than the vines ever could. 

“ _I will be a satellite, you don’t ought to say goodbye. I can hear your SOS. I can see you from the sky._ ” Bokuto falls to his knees now that he can, weak from laying himself bare to Akaashi. He hadn’t realized how much the vines were holding him up until they retreated. Akaashi looks down at him with a fathomless gaze, just the way he always imagined and just the way that could probably never be. His hands are on Bokuto’s face and in his hair and he’s winning against the fear of the fire. That’s all that Bokuto can hope for now.

There’s a crash behind them and the fire growls in that awful way and heat licks at them. He looks back to Akaashi to see terror flooding his features again and Bokuto grabs his thin wrists and pulls, drawing his gaze back down.

“ _Don’t give up, don’t give in to fear. Even when I’m gone, I will still be here. Darling, when you’re lost, and we’re worlds apart, you are always safe, in my heart._ ” Somehow, he finds the strength to stand. Vines still cling around Akaashi, but they have separated from the large ones along the walls which had bound him in place. Bokuto pulls him, using the power of his entrancement to keep Akaashi’s gaze on him. 

“ _I will be your shooting star, when you look up in the night. Burning through the atmosphere, brighter than the city lights._ ” He’s just pulled him free of the hole in the wall when the blast shakes the whole building. He pulls Akaashi tight to his chest, turning his back to the hole as flames leap from it and Akaashi whimpers against him. 

He lifts him and heads toward the living room, the balcony, where they can be rescued, but the smoke is so thick and the fire is roaring all around them. He keeps singing even though his lungs are burning and his eyes are watering. Akaashi is shaking and the vines coming out of him grip onto Bokuto in an almost tender way, like arms wrapping around him. He can see the light of the sliding door, almost taste the fresh air.

“ _I will be a satellite, you don’t ought to say goodbye. I can hear your SOS. I can see you from the sky-_ ” His words are cut off as the floor collapses below them. They fall through curling flames and choking smoke and he wraps around Akaashi, only hoping that he can protect him enough that he can make it out of this hell. 

He lands hard on his back with Akaashi against his chest and it pushes the remaining air from his lungs. He goes to cough, to gasp in air, but there’s nothing but smoke and heat. He tries to cough, to anything, but he’s suffocating, white stars bursting in his vision as it shrinks away from him. 

He fights with everything he has, but it’s not enough to beat back the darkness that creeps into him. The last thing he sees is Akaashi’s beautiful face, smeared with black char, looking down at him in fear. He has failed. But at least he tried. At least maybe Akaashi will know how much he means to him. At least...at least…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left! This has honestly been such a fantastic collab. Thank you all for taking this journey with us, and especially thank you to Kou for inviting me to do this with you. I've had such an amazing time crafting this great story with you. I can't believe how far we've come and how epic this love story became. You're an incredible writer and an incredible friend. Thanks for letting me in on both of those things <3


	11. Louder than the Darkness and the Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright friends, buckle in for the last chapter! Songs this go round are a repeat of "Native Tongue" by Switchfoot and "Slow Your Breath Down" by Future of Forestry!!

Akaashi suppresses the scream that threatens to tear itself from his throat as Bokuto’s eyes fall closed.

His mind is clear for the first time since he noticed the smoke, and the thoughts that finally come to him are hell. Guilt, pain, and anger swirl around his brain, threatening to overwhelm him, but by far the most prevalent emotion is horror. He has the presence of mind to scramble off Bokuto’s prone form and slip his suppressant from his pocket onto his wrist. He rolls onto his left arm and cries out with the pain. When he looks down, it’s bent at an odd angle; he must have broken it when they fell.

He doesn’t have time to worry about it now, not with Bokuto not moving at all. Akaashi uses his good arm to thrust two fingers against Bokuto’s neck; there is a pulse, but a weak one, and his chest only barely rises with air. The fall may have punctured a lung or fractured a rib; with the smoke clouding around them, Bokuto won’t survive more than a few minutes if his breathing is compromised. 

“Damn it!” Akaashi whispers, desperation clawing at his brain. 

Akaashi’s been told all his life he was dangerous, and he’s always believed it. His vines, they can kill, maim, choke out the last bit of air from someone’s lungs if he wants, and the suppressant on his wrist is a constant reminder of what he really is.

But Bokuto’s never seen that in him. Bokuto, sweet Bokuto, has only ever treated him with kindness and respect, and now look where it’s gotten him. There has to be something, something he can do to save Bokuto if not himself.

He wracks his brain as the flames press in around him. When he treats the plants on his balcony—and that has to be a fleeting thought, because surely none of them have survived, and if he lingers the ache of loss will press in on his heart—he touches each of them, breathes on them, invites each of them to share in a little bit of his magic, and it revitalizes them. Bokuto’s not a plant to be revitalized, but...trees are important because they release oxygen into the air. Akaashi is, by some accounts, a walking tree. If he can breathe clean air into Bokuto...it has to be worth a try, at the very least.

There’s nothing else to be done.

He drops the suppressant to the ground and kicks it away from himself. The air is immediately easier to breathe, but the heat licks at his skin in a way that inspires terror down to his bones. But he has to do this. He pushes down the fear as he lifts Bokuto’s helmet away from his face.

Akaashi takes in a deep breath, holds it in his lungs and lets himself expand with it. He has to save Bokuto. Bokuto has to be okay.

As the fire dances ever higher, Akaashi leans down and presses his lips to Bokuto’s.

***

_ “So you don’t tell anyone about your magic, do you?” _

_ Akaashi looks up at Bokuto. He’s only known the other man as more than just a voice from the shower a few weeks, but he’s quickly learned that past the loud, bubbly exterior there’s a sharp mind and caring heart. He’d only asked about the magic once, and Akaashi had snapped, not expecting the question or the thought of how much it would hurt if Bokuto rejected him for it. _

_ Akaashi bites his lip. “I don’t,” he replies carefully. _

_ Bokuto is quiet for a moment, which is rare for him. The thoughtful look on his face seems a little out of place, but Akaashi finds he rather likes it. _

_ “Don’t get too mad,” Bokuto says, each word tumbling slowly from his mouth. Thoughtfulness is replaced with guilt. “If it’s something dangerous...I just want you to know it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want. I just want you to know you’re more than your magic, you know? You’re always so nice and patient with me and you’re great at your job and you heal people so like, you have to be good in the heart, right? Even if your magic is the dangerous kind, it doesn’t make you a bad person.”  _

_ Akaashi is speechless. Bokuto is biting his lip, like he expects Akaashi to be upset by what he said. Akaashi wants to say he’s wrong, and that if he ever knew what Akaashi could do he’d change his mind. Akaashi wants to say that no one who has known what his magic is has ever told him he was good. Akaashi wants to say it’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to him.  _

_ “Thank you,” he says instead. _

_ Bokuto lights up, a bright beam of sunshine that beats down onto the surface of Akaashi’s heart. “Anytime.” _

***

Akaashi pushes the air from his lungs into Bokuto.

Bokuto’s eyes fly open almost immediately, gold locking onto blue, although he starts to cough just after. Akaashi breathes a huge sigh of relief even as Bokuto hacks.

“‘Kaashi?” Bokuto questions weakly.

“We have to get out of here,” Akaashi says, looking to the door. “That air I gave you won’t last long, especially if you’ve got a punctured lung.”

“You gave me...?”

Akaashi looks back to Bokuto. Even with soot and ash smeared over his face, he’s beautiful. Akaashi yearns to touch his face, to hold him, but they don’t have time.

“We’ll talk about it later. I promise.”

Bokuto blinks. “We need to get out of here,” he repeats. 

Akaashi nods. “Can you walk?”

Bokuto tries to sit up. He winces as he goes, biting his lip. “I’ll be fine.”

“Liar,” Akaashi accuses. He needs to think. He can’t lift Bokuto, not with his arm broken, but Bokuto can’t walk. No one else is coming, so they have to get themselves out. If only he hadn’t broken the oxygen tank with the vines…

“The vines,” he realizes. As if on cue, they begin to grow from him again. Bokuto shrinks away, fear plain on his face, and it’s enough to make Akaashi want to cry. There’s no time for that now. “I’m going to lift you with these. I swear, I’ll get us out of here.”

A piece of ceiling cracks perilously above them, and Akaashi flings himself across Bokuto just in time to protect him from the falling debris. Vines wrap around Bokuto’s calves. 

“I’ll get us out of here,” Akaashi says again, but his voice trembles.

Bokuto reaches up to touch Akaashi’s face.  _ “Sing to me, baby, in your native tongue.” _

Akaashi bites his lip as Bokuto’s voice cuts into his mind. There’s no manipulation in it, no emotion at all, and it’s clear Bokuto is doing everything he can to hold himself back. The song is just a song. “Don’t waste your breath,” he chokes out, but Bokuto shakes his head as if to say, it’s not a waste.

_ “Sing the words of the wise and the young.” _

Akaashi wraps Bokuto in vines as carefully as he can, trying to avoid any areas that might be too injured. The song is just a song, and yet it fills Akaashi with strength, giving him the inspiration he needs to begin to move.

_ “Show me the place where your words come from.” _

Akaashi stands, ignoring the pain in his arm, and brings Bokuto’s body tightly to himself. It will be a struggle to walk, this he knows, but it’s better than any alternative. 

The first few steps are hell. The pain screams through him as he fights to find a way to hold his arm that doesn’t make it worse. Bokuto is bulky and thick and Akaashi has never before attempted to carry anything with his vines. He grows more, wraps Bokuto more tightly as he walks, and slowly they inch their way through the door.

_ “Love’s the language, love’s your native tongue.” _

The stairs are just across the hallway, but to get there, they will have to cross through flames. Bokuto’s voice is barely a whisper now. Akaashi has to strain to hear him at all. But Bokuto’s singing means he’s still alive, still breathing, still fighting, and that’s what Akaashi has to do, too.

“Hold on, please,” he murmurs. “Just hold on.”

_ “My heart is a beating drum, my head in oblivion.” _

Akaashi fights his way through the flames. 

The heat is oppressive, surrounding him on all sides. He wants to freeze, wants to cocoon, but Bokuto is looking up at him and his mouth is still moving, and he knows they have to keep going. Every step is a battle, but he wins every one.

_ “My soul, such a long way from my lips, my love, my native tongue.” _

On the first stair, Bokuto begins to cough. Clear from the flames, Akaashi hurries, doing his best not to jostle Bokuto as he goes. He’s still singing, but it’s strained, and he has to stop to cough after every line.

“We’re almost there,” Akaashi promises.

Bokuto looks up at him, and maybe it’s the heat or the stress or the pain, but Akaashi swears he sees Bokuto mouth “I love you.”

“A little further,” he swears, and then he opens his mouth to sing along. 

_ “I want the world to sing in her native tongue, to sing it like when we were young, back before the pendulum had swung to the shadows.” _

Bokuto’s eyes fall shut on the second to last step. His mouth still moves, but his beautiful voice is gone. “Stay with me,” Akaashi urges. “Please, Koutarou, I need you to stay with me.”

He’s been so dependent on Bokuto’s voice in the time they’ve known each other; the words from Bokuto’s mouth have propelled him through day after day, his songs have kept him company night after night. It’s never occurred to him what he might do if he didn’t have Bokuto to sing for him anymore.

Bokuto loves music more than anyone Akaashi has ever met. He practically needs it to live. So if Bokuto can’t sing, Akaashi will have to sing for him.

So he finishes the song, and where there was harmony, there is now only Akaashi’s voice, quiet against the dark of the hallway.

_ “I want the world to sing her native tongue, maybe we could learn to sing along, to find a way to use our lungs for love and not the shadows.” _

Finally, they clear the building. Akaashi’s good arm comes up to block his eyes from the sunlight as they step out of the smoke. There’s shouting nearby, something like Bokuto’s name repeated over and over in voices high and low. A tengu with a shock of orange hair looks at them in disbelief, wiping tears away from his face. Akaashi marches on, past everyone who gapes at them, past every whisper of Bokuto’s name, until he finds the two men he’s looking for.

“Kuroo-san,” he says. “Daichi-san.”

Kuroo lifts his head from where he had hidden it in Daichi’s shoulder. A hand comes slowly to cover his mouth. 

“Akaashi,” Daichi says. “You made it.”

“We made it,” Akaashi says wearily. 

He falls to his knees, no longer able to stand. Daichi and Kuroo come to surround him as Akaashi releases Bokuto from his vines. 

“Bokuto, are you—”

Akaashi holds up a hand to silence them. Bokuto’s chest rises and falls; Akaashi counts the breaths. He goes to check the pulse at Bokuto’s wrist, reaching out with his good hand, but a wave of exhaustion or shock hits him.

The last thing he remembers is the feeling of Bokuto’s fingers against his own.

***

  
  


… “the arm’s broken in three places” …

  
  
  
  


… “don’t know how they made it out” ...

  
  
  
  


… “enough smoke to kill anyone” …

  
  
  
  


… “lucky to be alive” …

  
  
  
  
  


“What kind of magic did you say he has?”

***

When Akaashi wakes again, his head is fuzzy. There’s pain in his arm, but he can only feel it through a haze of what must be incredibly strong pain meds. He lifts his good hand to wipe the sleep from his eyes and finds a red tag and a suppressant around his wrist.

“I told them it wasn’t necessary,” says a voice to his right, “but no one seemed to believe me.”

Akaashi turns his head slowly. “Ennoshita-san,” he rasps.

Ennoshita grins and pulls his chair closer to Akaashi’s bed. “Hey there. Glad to see you awake.”

Akaashi blinks against the bright light. Something feels off, but he can’t quite place what it is. There’s no other bed in the room. That’s nice, he supposes. He doesn’t know how long they’ll keep him but at least he won’t have to share. Then again, he wouldn’t mind sharing so much if his roommate were—

“Bokuto-san!”

Akaashi tries to bolt from the bed, but discovers quickly his ankles are bound. As he reaches down to undo the velcro, pain shoots through his arm. Ennoshita’s hand covers his.

“Akaashi-kun, you have to calm down,” he says, his tone even but urgent. “You’re in a high security room right now because of what happened. They agreed to move you once you woke up if you could prove you’re of sound mind.”

Frustration and hurt boil up inside. Of course he’s in a high security room. He’s done everything he can for years to keep his magic away from his job, and now it’s likely that all his coworkers know exactly who he is and what he can do. He’ll have to start all over somewhere new. 

Akaashi looks at Ennoshita and tries to swallow down the bitterness. “How are you in here, then?” he mumbles. “High security patients aren’t allowed guests.”

“We all know you, Akaashi-kun,” Ennoshita says. “We know you’d never hurt anyone intentionally. They’re bending the rules.”

Akaashi takes a deep breath, trying to fight back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. “But the cuffs are necessary?”

“The police insisted,” he explains with a frown. “But they can’t tell a nurse not to visit a patient, so.”

Akaashi nods. Ennoshita has been a good friend to him, and Akaashi realizes now he’s never been grateful enough for that. 

“Have you heard about Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, unable to help himself. “Is he alright?”

Ennoshita smiles. “You don’t think you can ask that without enduring a round of teasing, do you?”

“I’ll endure all the teasing you like as soon as you tell me he’s alive.”

“He’s alive,” Ennoshita answers. 

All the emotions from before are replaced with a bone-numbing relief. No matter what personal hell he may be going through, Bokuto made it. The fight was worth it, because he got Bokuto out safely.

“And he’ll be alright?”

“It’ll take some time, but yeah,” Ennoshita answers. “Looks like he fell, because he fractured several ribs and there’s contusions on both lungs. He’s got a few other bruises and scrapes, but that’s the worst of it.”

Akaashi nods. Bokuto is going to be okay. That’s the most important thing. He’s going to live. They made it.

Ennoshita kicks his legs up on Akaashi’s bed. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

In the past, Akaashi would have declined. The story directly involves telling Ennoshita about his magic and his power, and those are both subjects he’s always been keen to avoid. He'd been so afraid that everything would change, that perhaps this friendship he relied so much on was only a whisper away from snapping. But yet, here Ennoshita sits, talking to him as he always has, body relaxed, the only worry written on his features being that of any friend who visited another in the hospital. There’s no arguing with the simple evidence of his presence. He feels the tears flood his eyes again, but this time it’s from a profound relief. He can finally give Ennoshita what he's always deserved: the truth.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Akaashi says.

***

Akaashi moves rooms later in the day, after Ennoshita files a report with the police. Akaashi manages to keep himself quiet about going to see Bokuto all the way up until he’s settled in the new bed, and then he promptly opens his mouth.

Ennoshita snorts. “Listen, I know what you’re gonna ask, and the answer is not yet.”

Akaashi frowns. “Ennoshita-kun—”

“You’re a patient, and you need  _ rest _ ,” Ennoshita says. “And so does your boyfriend.”

“He’s not—”

Ennoshita waves him off. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will take you wherever you want. Tonight you’re resting. Get some sleep.”

He leaves Akaashi with a smile, and Akaashi sits back against his bed with a huff.

Unfortunately, getting sleep isn’t as easy as just closing his eyes. There’s no way to lay down comfortably with his arm at an angle from the cast, and he’s never been adept at falling asleep sitting up (unless he’s got Bokuto as a pillow). Every time he approaches sleep, a wave of pain crashes through his arm or a nurse comes in and checks on him or another patient makes a weird noise a few doors down. 

When he finally does manage to drift off, flames once again haunt his dreams. The heat and smoke press in around him, oppressing him even in sleep, and he has to dodge debris as it falls from the ceiling. Bokuto is calling his name, but no matter where he looks, Bokuto is nowhere to be found. Just as Akaashi is ready to give up, to give in, Bokuto appears in front of him, wrapped in vines from head to toe with tears staining his face. 

“Akaashi…” he moans. “What did you do?”

Akaashi’s trembling when he wakes. The early morning sun peaks in through his blinds, and he’s not alone.

“Oh, good morning. I brought you breakfast,” Daichi says, holding up a bag. “Thought you might like this better than whatever the hospital serves.”

“It’s not that bad,” Akaashi murmurs defensively, taking a fistful of blanket in his good hand to ground himself. 

Daichi laughs. “You’re just numb from years of terrible snackage. I promise whatever is on that tray is not better than this bagel with an artery-clogging amount of cream cheese smeared on top.”

It probably isn’t. Akaashi reaches out for the bag with his good hand.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Coffee, too.” Daichi passes him a cup, smiling brightly. “It’s the least I can do.”

Akaashi lets that go for the moment, although he makes a note to come back to it. There is a truly disturbing amount of cream cheese on the bagel, as Daichi promised, and the coffee isn’t tar, so it’s better than anything he can get from the hospital. Daichi lets him eat in silence, content to sip his own coffee and scroll through his phone. Akaashi has always appreciated that Daichi understands the art of companionable silence.

With the bagel gone and the coffee halfway there, Akaashi feels a little more human as he turns to Daichi. “Have you seen Bokuto-san this morning?”

Daichi shakes his head. “I came straight here. Tetsu’s with him, though.”

Akaashi yearns and yearns and yearns. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” Daichi shrugs. He grins as he adds, “He’s asking for you.”

Akaashi stiffens. A shot of pain jolts down his arm. “I’m surprised that he wants to see me at all after everything I did.”

“Saving his life, you mean?”

“Only after I nearly killed him.”

“He understands that wasn’t really you.”

“It was,” Akaashi argues. “My magic is just as much a part of me as yours is part of you.”

Daichi sighs. He leans forward in his chair. “I can’t pretend to understand where you’re coming from, Akaashi. My magic isn’t as powerful as yours, and it certainly doesn’t get me labelled a DNAR. But I do know that you would never hurt Kou on purpose, and no amount of magic can change your heart.” He sets his hand on top of Akaashi’s good one. “That’s what makes you a good person. Not what happened when the magic took over, but what happened when you came back to yourself. An entire brigade of firefighters watched you carry a man out of a burning building. That takes strength, and courage, and heart.”

Akaashi blinks. Daichi settles back into his chair and scratches absentmindedly at the suppressant on his wrist. His phone buzzes, and he spends a moment looking at it before he sets it down again.

“If I was strong, it was only because of him,” says Akaashi.

Daichi smiles softly at him. “I very much doubt that to be true.”

Ennoshita appears in the doorway then, just as Akaashi goes to respond, and he’s wearing a large smile on his face. 

“Ready to go see your boyfriend?”

***

Akaashi’s foot tapping impatiently on the footplate is shaking the entire chair. He’d insisted he didn’t need the wheelchair—he’d sustained no injury below the waist—but he knows hospital policy as well as anyone. Above him, Ennoshita lets out another sigh.

“Should be just another moment,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

It’s not like Akaashi doesn’t know. And there’d been no way to tell, when Ennoshita had come to get him, that the physical therapist would choose this particular moment to stop by Bokuto’s room. Still, the anxiety twists inside his stomach, the knife sharp and painful against his already battered heart. He stares intently at the door, as if he can make it open by sheer force of will. 

It’s still several more minutes of tense silence before the physical therapist finally emerges, looking harried. Akaashi is halfway out of the wheelchair when he feels Ennoshita’s hand on his shoulder.

“Down, boy,” he says, and there’s a hint of seriousness in the levity of his tone. Akaashi huffs and sits back.

“Let’s go, then.”

Ennoshita makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh as he pushes Akaashi over to Bokuto’s room. As they’re approaching, Kuroo comes out of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Stubborn asshole,” he’s murmuring to himself. He looks up and sees Akaashi, and his face lights up in a smile. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

“What do you mean?” Akaashi asks.

“He’s pushing himself too hard, to no one’s surprise. It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” Akaashi answers. 

Kuroo hesitates for a moment, about to walk away, before he bends down and wraps his arms around Akaashi in a light hug. “Thank you for saving him. He’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot.”

Akaashi can’t find the words to respond, and then Kuroo’s pulling away. He claps Akaashi on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later. I don’t imagine he’ll let you go once he’s got you back by his side.”

Akaashi opens his mouth to protest, but Kuroo is already strolling away. Akaashi’s brows furrow.

“You’re not staying the night in here,” Ennoshita says in warning. “There will be no fraternization on my watch.”

“Ennoshita-kun!” Akaashi sputters, turning red, but Ennoshita only pushes him into the room.

Bokuto is sitting up in bed, looking pale. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, but when he sees Akaashi, his entire face breaks into a smile. 

“Hey,” he says.

Ennoshita pushes Akaashi to the side of the bed. Silently, Akaashi takes Bokuto’s hand in his own.

“I’ll leave you kids alone,” Ennoshita says. He places a heavy, comforting hand on Akaashi’s shoulder before he turns and departs, and the door shuts quietly behind him.

Akaashi bursts into tears.

“Bokuto-san,” he sobs, holding Bokuto’s hand to his chest. “I’m so sorry, I put you in danger, I nearly k-killed you—”

“Kaashi,” Bokuto says softly. “Kaashi, Kaashi, calm down—”

“I broke your oxygen tank and I wrapped you up in vines, you shouldn’t have even come after me!”

“Akaashi—”

“What were you thinking, you had to know I was a DNAR, why on earth would you break protocol—”

“Keiji!”

Akaashi quiets, although tears still stream down his face. Bokuto uses the hand Akaashi isn’t clinging to to reach for his face. His hand is huge, easily engulfing Akaashi’s whole cheek. Akaashi leans into it.

“Bokuto-san,” he murmurs. “Why aren’t you angry with me?”

Bokuto shakes his head. “Why would I be angry with you? You saved my life.”

“It was only endangered because of me!”

“Keiji,” he says softly. With his thumb, he swipes away the tears gathering under Akaashi’s eye. “There’s nothing that could stop me from coming to you when you need me.”

Akaashi bites his lip hard enough to taste iron. 

“If anything, you should be angry with me,” Bokuto continues. “I promised I’d never use my power on you and I—I broke my promise.” He hangs his head. “I’m sorry, Keiji, it was the only way to calm you down—”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi interrupts. “I forgive you. You saved my life, too.”

Akaashi closes his eyes, steadying himself with a calming breath. Then he lifts Bokuto’s hand to his lips and kisses it softly. When he opens his eyes again, Bokuto is staring at him.

“I love you,” Bokuto says. “I should have said so a hundred times before now, but I guess I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way. But it’s not worth not telling you, and I don’t want to be scared of rejection—”

“I love you,” Akaashi says. “Bokuto-san—Koutarou—I love you so much—”

Bokuto leans forward and winces, and Akaashi frowns.

“Don’t move, you’re injured,” he admonishes.

“Come here, then, let me hold you, please—”

“You can’t,” Akaashi reminds him. “And Boku—Koutarou, I’m still so scared. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You won’t,” Bokuto says earnestly.

“How do you know that?” Akaashi asks, more tears falling from his face. “I’m still cursed with who I am, with the magic I have. Nothing about me has changed.”

“I know that,” Bokuto says. He takes Akaashi’s good hand in his own. “But Keiji, I’m in love with you exactly the way you are. I’m not asking you to change. You hurt me, yeah, but you saved me with the same power.”

Akaashi lets out a little sob. Bokuto squeezes his hands.

_ “This chest is full of memories, of gold and silver tears. I'll give you more to own than all of this, and I'll give you more than years.” _

Akaashi looks up at Bokuto. He shouldn’t be singing, not with the injuries he’s sustained, but he very much doubts if he could dissuade him. There’s a peaceful look on his face as he sings, his eyes lidded and his lips curved up in a smile.

_ “For you were once a child of innocence and I see you just the same, your burdens couldn't win or lose a thing. Oh, I'd tell you once again, but you were always on the run.” _

Peacefulness fills Akaashi, too, spreading from the place where his hand is held in Bokuto’s. Warmth pours into him, and Akaashi would think it was Bokuto’s magic, but there’s a suppressant on his wrist, plain as day. Hospital policy, he knows, but there’s an angry red rash beneath. 

Carefully, he releases Bokuto’s hand and tugs at the suppressant.

Bokuto pauses for a moment. “You shouldn’t,” he murmurs.

Akaashi shakes his head. “I’m not scared of your magic, either.”

With his eyes fixed on Akaashi, Bokuto pulls off the suppressant and sets it on the bedside table.

_ “Slow your breath down, just take it slow, find your heart now, whoa. You can trust and love again, whoa.” _

The calm feelings intensify, a tingling feeling that echoes through Akaashi’s body. More tears fall, but they are tears of joy, of belonging. His apartment is gone, but he knows for certain he’s found his home in Bokuto. 

He prods at Bokuto’s leg, forcing him over to one side of the bed and crawling in beside him. Their hands twine together again, and Akaashi rests his head on Bokuto’s shoulder.

_ “You're not alone, you're now a part of me. You feel the cure, I'll feel the toil it brought you.” _

Ennoshita leans up against the other side of Bokuto’s door. The song plays directly into his soul, filling him with a sense of healing and love. He knows right away that Bokuto has taken off his suppressant, but he can’t find it in himself to worry about it. Instead, he cracks open Bokuto’s door. Bokuto’s voice carries quietly from within. As he watches, several people in the hallway lift their heads to listen. Slowly, on every face, a serene smile appears.

Ennoshita shakes his head as he walks away, glad he’d told Akaashi to make that first request all those months ago. He feels the peace settle over his own heart and smiles. And that's just it, he thinks to himself. It's a feeling more than a sound, but still it gathers in every corner and every soul, a love that bloomed in the vacuum that spanned between these two people who lived in the terrible quiet of loneliness. It’s the sound of two hearts beating in perfect harmony, hearts that would never live in silence ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit we did it. We're at the end my friends.  
> A few notes:  
> 1) A HUGE thank you to everyone who's been following along this whole time. The response to this fic has been so so overwhelming and heartfelt and we're so glad we could tell you this story.  
> 2) You'll definitely find us collaborating again, so if you've enjoyed this, hopefully you'll join us on our next go round!  
> 3) Please check out our other works. Kou's a big Bokuaka stan and Cat writes lots of other songfics, so you'll find more like these on our pages for sure.  
> Thank you, thank you, thank you! We love you all!!


End file.
